"Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. Spurling, who sat on the right of the table. “Thank God,” he exclaimed. I hated the stuff. "Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent.
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