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No offence, I hope. At nine o'clock, the sheriffs arrived, followed by their officers and javelin-men. " "And what'll we get for the job, yer hon'r?" asked the foremost chairman, who, like most of his tribe at the time, was an Irishman. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. It is most uncomfortable for every one concerned. Something, I'm convinced, has happened to the boys.
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