" "Very well. Or perhaps my father once. White,” the lady in black satin remarked. She doesn't love you; she hasn't the least idea what it means beyond what she has read in novels. Raising the bowl in his right hand, Jack glanced towards the balcony, in which the group of ladies were seated, and begged to drink their healths; he then turned to Kneebone and the others, who extended their hands towards him, and raised it to his lips.
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