. . Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. " "Only two minutes more, Sir," intreated Edgeworth Bess, advancing towards him in such a manner as to screen Jack, who crept into the farthest part of the angle,—"only two minutes, and we've done. “Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble. “I am going,” he said, “to be impertinent. . "I have saved the executioner a labour, by cutting his throat," replied Blueskin.
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