"I shall be able to stretch my limbs presently—ha! ha!" "Hush!" cried Kneebone, "I hear a noise without. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. Explain to Sir John our feelings.
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