At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. An uncomfortable silence followed. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. Looking sullen, he released the handle and sat back. “Who did you live with before the Becks? I hear things. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy.
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