“I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. The natural gaiety of the place seemed to have affected them both. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. But if he's in bed, how the devil is he going with me, supposing I decide to hire him? The mudhook comes up to-morrow night.
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