"What's the matter, father!" continued the new-comer, addressing Wood. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. Do you live here?" "Not exactly," answered the carpenter. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground.
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