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Then she sang. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. She did not wait, but grabbed up the lantern and slid into the passage, calling to them to hurry. She found herself struggling with a storm of tears. At length she hit upon it: bubbling water. "Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. "Devil!" cried the widow, catching his arm, and gazing with frantic eagerness in his face, "how many years will you give my son before you execute your terrible threat?" "NINE!" answered Jonathan sternly. Anyone would be intrigued. It saved me the bother of being studied.
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