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It was not want of friendship that detained me; though Murrey has always been so hasty and ardent, and I so deliberate and procrastinating, it is wonderful we should ever have been friends.

No, not wonderful: though slow yourself, you loved him, perhaps, for his ardour.

Yes, young man, you are right. But how was it that he loved me? if indeed, he ever loved me. Perhaps he never did.

I did—I do—and will ever love thee, wert thou as slow and inert as a beetle.

Now ye are friends, and this terrible tempest has past over us! May such scenes as we have this day witnessed never again disgrace a free and a Christian land! [A murmur amongst the Crowd.]

Good people, be pacified; and instead of the burning of a witch, ye shall have six hogsheads of ale set abroach at the cross, to drink the health of Violet Murrey, and a grand funeral into the bargain.