"I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain. Winifred instantly picked it up. " "Why, that must be about the time of the Great Storm," rejoined Jackson. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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