“I rue the day I ever met you, Sebastianus. But ere the words could find utterance, her maternal tenderness overcame her indignation; and, sinking upon her knees, she extended her arms over her child. Burn your palette and your easel. Their laughter, together with the agonized yowling of the dog, drew a circle of wondering natives; and at length McClintock himself came over to see what the racket was about. "Thank you, sir," said Spurlock, holding out his hand. It never is.
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