“Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. I won’t even ask. Wood resounded from below. 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. “For Heaven’s sake, no,” she answered quickly. The tired woman looked up in inquiring silence at Ann Veronica’s diffident entry.
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