He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. “You don’t want to go?” “No. Mrs. ‘Odd sort of a nun. But we smirk a little, I’m afraid, habitually when we talk to you.
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