" "A miniature! Of whom?" "That I can't say," replied Jack, mysteriously. " "There is a great art in it, if you did," quoth he. She did not remember how many seasons it took before she relented, how much time before she decided to toy with his affections. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. "My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment.
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