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. He cocked an eyebrow. "A hundred pounds!" exclaimed Shotbolt. "I've said it," rejoined Jonathan, peremptorily. There’s something about you, a little flavor of Will, I suppose, that makes one feel—good luck about you and success. He thrust out a rhetorical hand.
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