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. He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. I cannot live without you, Anna. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame.
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