‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the Chevalier de Saint George—a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud. "Ay, ay," rejoined Sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,—hang me, if he thinks proper,—if you wish it.
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