The parlour was cluttered but cosy. He refused his food,—and even when better provisions were offered him, rejected them. Nothing ensued. “And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. "Yes, Auntie! And to date you have cost me precisely sixteen thousand dollars— hard earned, every one of them. Fas du tout. But a man is a mixed creature. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. I understand.
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