"Halloa!" cried Jack, looking round, and trying to fix his inebriate gaze upon the speaker,—"who's that?" "Your mother," replied Mrs. Wood, terrified by the wildness of her looks. If you ride past the church, and mount the hill, you'll come to Neasdon and then you'll not have above half a mile to go. You have darkened your eyebrows, you have even changed your style of dress.
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