The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks.
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