" "Stop!" cried Jonathan, who did not care to push matters too far, "let me have a word with you, Mr. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. "I'll tell you," answered Jonathan, sternly. Aunt and niece regarded each other silently. Beneath that tree let us lie. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. There are human limitations, and no doubt you reached yours.
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