"Curse you! Where are the bailiffs? Rot you! have you lost your tongue? Devil seize you! you could bawl loud enough a moment ago!" "Silence, Blueskin!" interposed an authoritative voice, immediately behind the ruffian. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. Why did he take me?’ Martha’s damp eyes were puzzled.
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