Shame and electricity coursed through her veins, flowing directly from him in a flash flood. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing. When I was younger, I was very sick with a deadly flu. These things did not harmonize with his conception of the forthcoming (if unavoidable) interview. ‘Nevertheless, you will marry me,’ he snarled. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it.
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