Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. “You poor little girl!” he cried. Seeing from the threatening looks of his captors, that they were about to wreak their vengeance upon him, the miserable wretch besought mercy in abject terms, and charged his master with the most atrocious crimes. “By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. "Take off the ruffles, Blueskin," rejoined Wild. “I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself.
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