and Mrs. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. Purney, the ordinary, who had latterly conceived a great regard for Jack, addressed him in a discourse, which, while it tended to keep alive his feelings of penitence, was calculated to afford him much consolation. Taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled one of those vagabond heads which Murillo delighted to paint, and for which Guzman d'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, or Estevanillo Gonzalez might have sat:—faces that almost make one in love with roguery, they seem so full of vivacity and enjoyment. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader.
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