Spurlock grew cold. Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin. My people don’t know what to do. He ventured to the great gates, and by inserting his gimblets into the wood at intervals, so as to form points upon which he could rest his foot, he contrived, to ascend them; and when at the top, having fastened a portion of his dress to the spikes, he managed, not without considerable risk, to draw up his female companion. "By my shoul!" he exclaimed, smacking his lips, "dat ish goot—very goot.
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