Nor had Jack been idle all this time. " Awed by Jonathan's manner, Mrs. " "I cannot repent,—I cannot pray," replied Jack, recovering his hardened demeanour. " "We shall expect you to-morrow," insinuated Mrs. But, it can't be helped. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone.
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