“Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. It was 1582. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. Day after day she pounded him with curses, saying that her mother looked down on him from Heaven and sent a curse, to which he laughed. " "No—no," laughed Jack. But the sheer tenacity of the girl defeated him. "I thought you were asleep. “I meant it. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time.
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