Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. I’m the sort of dog, if you turn it out of the room it lies down on the mat at the door. ” She became aware of her aunt, through the panes of the greenhouse, advancing with an air of serene unconsciousness from among the raspberry canes. Do you expect me, I wonder. Do you understand?’ ‘Aye, sir. "Put down your burthen, monster!" shouted Wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him.
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