"Two hundred pounds!" exclaimed Ireton, "besides the governor's offer—that's three hundred. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. You and the girl have made it soft for him, and I'm going to make it soft for him. I'll have no such toast drunk at my table!" "It's the king's birthday," urged the woollen draper. I'll dispose of the brat. Spurling," said Jonathan, who overheard the whisper, "you owe your situation to me.
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