Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. Getting back the ice was rather a serious affair. He fell backwards on his butt, the wind knocked out of him. She snatched about in her mind. “Many nights I have thought of you, Anna. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly.
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