With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley. Kneebone in a conciliatory tone. A dozen shynesses and intellectual barriers were being outflanked or broken down in her mind. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it.
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