When she reflected that Mr. Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the Chevalier de Saint George—a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud. She tugged at my coat and said, ‘I know of the blue-eyed maid. It would not be possible otherwise to live in daily contact with this level-eyed, lovely girl without loving her. ‘Silence,’ he warned again, with a prod of the dagger at her heart.
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