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How Mr. Winkle, when he stepped out of the Frying-pan, walked gently and comfortably into the Fire

           BenAllenseizedthepoker,flourisheditinawarlikemannerabovehishead,inflictedasavageblowonanimaginaryskull,andwoundupbysaying,inaveryexpressivemanner,thatheonlywishedhecouldguess;thatwasall.

           ‘I’dshowhimwhatIthoughtofhim,’saidMr.BenAllen.Androundwentthepokeragain,morefiercelythanbefore.

           Allthiswas,ofcourse,verysoothingtothefeelingsofMr.Winkle,whoremainedsilentforafewminutes;butatlengthmusteredupresolutiontoinquirewhetherMissAllenwasinKent.

           ‘No,no,’saidMr.BenAllen,layingasidethepoker,andlookingverycunning;‘Ididn’tthinkWardle’sexactlytheplaceforaheadstronggirl;so,asIamhernaturalprotectorandguardian,ourparentsbeingdead,Ihavebroughtherdownintothispartofthecountrytospendafewmonthsatanoldaunt’s,inanice,dull,closeplace.Ithinkthatwillcureher,myboy.Ifitdoesn’t,I’lltakeherabroadforalittlewhile,andseewhatthat’lldo.’

           ‘Oh,theaunt’sisinBristol,isit?’falteredMr.Winkle.

           ‘No,no,notinBristol,’repliedMr.BenAllen,jerkinghisthumboverhisrightshoulder;‘overthatwaydownthere.But,hush,here’sBob.Notaword,mydearfriend,notaword.’

           Shortasthisconversationwas,itrousedinMr.Winklethehighestdegreeofexcitementandanxiety.Thesuspectedpriorattachmentrankledinhisheart.

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