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Forgive me, sir, however whether you exist or not, I cannot leave that collar round your neck for these camp-wolves to convert into strong liquor. And as he spoke, he bent down, and detached, gently enough, a magnificent necklace. 'Not for myself, I assure you. Like Ate's golden apple, it shall go to the fairest.
And the other day, when I spoke of Rose Salterne" "Ah!" groaned Frank, "Ate's apple again!" And what is more, I know that he wrote a sonnet, and sent it to her to Stow by a market woman. What right has he to write sonnets when I can't? It's not fair play, Mr. Frank, or I am a Jew, and a Spaniard, and a Papist; it's not!" And Will smote the table till the plates danced again.
And Frank spoke "If plighted troth I fail, or secret speech reveal, May Cocytean ghosts around my pillow squeal; While Ate's brazen claws distringe my spleen in sunder, And drag me deep to Pluto's keep, 'mid brimstone, smoke, and thunder!" "Placetne, domine?"
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