"Too late, master," replied the landlord of the Trumpeter, in a surly tone, for he did not much like the appearance of his customer; "just shut up shop. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. "Never give in. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. ‘What a catalogue. E. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it.
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