That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. We shall both, I hope, live to enjoy our shares—long after Thames Darrell is forgotten—ha! ha! A third of your estate I accept. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. “My dear Anna,” he answered.
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