And now let's go back to the Shovels, and finish our brandewyn and bier, Muntmeester. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. "Will he consent, to be searched?" inquired Jonathan. While the girl kept the patient from dwelling upon his misfortunes, whatever these were, he himself would have to keep the girl from brooding over hers. Kimble was clearly a plain-spoken fellow. The only thing that was louder to her was the beating of his heart.
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