Pheasant hunting upland birds

The pretty creature was in one of the inner stables, and turned her mild head as her master came beside her. Little Trot, a tiny spaniel, her inseparable companion in the stable, was comfortably curled up on her back. Well, Meg, my pretty girl, said Arthur, patting her neck, pheasant hunting upland birds have a glorious canter this morning. Nay, your honour, I donna see as that can be, said John. Not be. Why not. Why, pheasant hunting upland birds got lamed. Lamed, confound you. What do you mean. read more
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