As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. “Does it hurt?” Michelle asked. "Not so, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan; "you are my prisoner. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. " "I should think not," observed Jonathan, who had some practice in the knight's moods, and knew how to humour him.
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