And if she is not a nun, nor a refugee, and yet is entirely English, I’m hanged if I know what she is. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. "Always remember the fact. She was finally dead, going to Hell. I bear the marks of some of them about me still," he continued, taking off his wig, and laying bare a bald skull, covered with cicatrices and plates of silver. Frankly, it is the funniest thing which has ever happened to me in my life. She walked straight across to the wardrobe and opened it. He looked at her guiltily. "Who? Jack!" exclaimed Jonathan.
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