He continued to do this for the rest of the evening intermittently, in and out, among other topics. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. He was snoring stupidly. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. " "To be sure you are," replied Jonathan, laughing. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still.
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