“I drink your very good health, Sir John and Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “and I wish you a pleasant journey back to England. "By my shoul!" he exclaimed, smacking his lips, "dat ish goot—very goot. ‘I try to be. Then his tiny bow mouth opened into an adoring smile. With this air in our blood, this sunlight soaking us. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear.
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