"What did you say to him?" inquired Jonathan, suspiciously. He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. "Have the aromatic spirits of ammonia sent to Mr. Lucy wore it every day from then on.
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