They had a universe to talk about—two universes. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. Descending the hollow, or rather excavation,—for it was an old disused clay-pit, at the bottom of which the cottage was situated,—he speedily succeeded in arousing the ancient sibyl, and having committed Edgeworth Bess to her care, with a promise of an abundant reward in case she watched diligently over her safety, and attended to her comforts till his return,—to all which Black Mary readily agreed,—he departed with a heart lightened of half its load. "Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. “You do not quite understand,” she said gently. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray.
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