Drink the toast, Jack. ‘Ain’t my place, I know that. You have never felt the hearts of all hardened against you; have never heard the jeer or curse from every lip; nor endured the insult and the blow from every hand. While this was passing, Jonathan opened one of the upper windows, and fired several shots upon the assailants. They were Jonathan Wild and Quilt Arnold. Her features were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child,—but that was the only drawback to her beauty. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors.
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