It was now a quarter past twelve. There was all the knavery, and more than all the drollery of a Spanish picaroon in the laughing eyes of the English apprentice; and, with a little more warmth and sunniness of skin on the side of the latter, the resemblance between them would have been complete. "Ay, good luck to him! so we have," rejoined Terence; "but we've no objection to take out the dochter's bill in drink. Glancing around his prison, he began to think it possible he might effect an escape from it.
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