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Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. She pushed him gently on the chest. ‘You did not find Gosse, that is seen, but—’ ‘Gosse? Gosse? Who’s this here Gosse then?’ ‘He is the Frenchman of whom I told you. Wood heard the cry. And they’ll shut the gates presently. " "This is folly," cried Jack, controlling himself by a powerful effort.
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