In each corner stood a stout square post reaching to the ceiling. "Auntie?" he cried. "You don't eat," continued Kneebone, addressing Jack, who had remained for some time thoughtful, and pre-occupied with his head upon his hand. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. “They’d better not,” said Hetty. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. .
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