With a view to raise recruits for his corps, the warlike woollen-draper started for Lancashire, under the colour of a journey on business. He was going to tell me something— and he shut up. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. "How sweet these roses are! Shall I put them into water?" "Put them where they came from," replied Mrs. It doesn't annoy me; it only disturbs me. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day.
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