He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. "I thought you'd have got rid of your ill-humour by this time. Hark ye, Blueskin," continued he, addressing that personage, who, in obedience to his commands, had, with great promptitude, driven out the rabble, and again secured the door, "a word in your ear. Aware of Quilt Arnold's mode of proceeding, Jack instantly dismounted, and, instead of knocking, opened the door with the pass-key. That's one of the troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously. "The key," replied the widow. “Have you dropped from the skies?” Sydney asked wonderingly.
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