After occupying himself thus for the best part of an hour, he thought Jack must have given him the slip. O'Higgins struck a match and lit his Henry Clay, thereby drawing upon himself the mutual disapproval of the spinsters. A pig, yes, a little. She had not even endorsed it. "Allow me to assist you, Sir James," said Hogarth. He glanced up at the coachman. His tone was kind and sympathetic. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. He grabbed her hair viciously and whispered loudly into her tear-streaked face.
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