When night fell, he crept into the town of Tottenham. Winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;—a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion. " "Wait a bit, massa," replied the grinning negro,—"lilly bit—see all right fust. " Trenchard took up a pen.
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