It was, in his opinion, the most astonishing letter he had ever read. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. But though she lied about pretty much everything else, she didn’t lie about that. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. In fact he was thinking of other things. At no loss to comprehend that Jack was the individual pointed out by these outcries, two of the nearest of the group made a dash at him. Down under the incalculable selfishness of the penitent child there was the man's uneasy recollection of Judas. “You see, her sister is married to Ferringhall, isn’t she? and she herself must be drawing no end of a good screw here. "We shall never be able to get you out unseen, Jack," whispered Poll Maggot. She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure. You'll never be guided by me—never!" "Indeed, my love, you're entirely mistaken," returned the carpenter, endeavouring to deprecate his wife's rising resentment by the softest looks, and the meekest deportment.
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