He was caked with dried muck. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. Though scarcely two hours past midnight, it was perfectly light. “Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. "May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name.
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