What is the secret mesmerism which friendship possesses, and under the operation of which a person ordinarily sluggish, or cold, or timid, becomes wise, active, and resolute, in another's behalf?
Jacques, that's our gardener, says nobody has ever seen a dead donkey.'
Finding no meanes how I might us enlarge, / But if that Dwarfe I could with me convay, / I lightly snatcht him up and with me bore away.
Don't worry about the mess on the carpet - I'll hoover it up later.
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