"Wretch!" cried Jack. Stanley pronounced, and seemed to hesitate whether he had not gone too far. The morning of Monday the 16th of November 1724 at length dawned. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. “It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. Her personal maidservant, the first she had ever had in her life, was joyful for her.
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