Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. "I hardly know," returned Jack; "but it's not safe for me to remain much longer here. Sometimes I think I’ll miss them and I start to cry, but I’m ready to have a life of my own. Will you tell her that?" "I will," replied Thames, earnestly. His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.
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