“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of his flight, to the jailor. Well, I'd no idea," she continued, pursuing her ruminations as she left the room, "that people of quality laughed so. "What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son.
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