The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. ” They heard a man’s voice outside. Here, turnkey. “I suppose some one makes a bit on the food,” she said.
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