ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. No one ate with as much passionate gusto as a teenager could. She held her hand to the place where he had slapped her. “Well, no,” she answered. —I'll give him the edication of a prig,—teach him the use of his forks betimes,—and make him, in the end, as clever a cracksman as his father.
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