207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. “Hey sis!” He cried drunkenly. “Will you be moral and your species, or immoral and yourself? We’ve decided to be immoral. Now, will you stand aside?" "I won't," answered Jack, obstinately. Kneebone," she added, with a glance at that gentleman, which was meant to speak daggers, "will do as he pleases. The decision had been sound. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey.
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