To have written a short story in a week was rather a remarkable feat. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. "He's not to blame," said Jack, rising. . Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. Time enough for Gosse to shut her mouth forever, as he did not hesitate to point out to her.
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