He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. “I will send you a copy,” Mr. Jack had thus been six hours in accomplishing his arduous task. Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something ramshackle about those people, Vee. Russell trouble, a good lot of trouble. I want to do without that for a time. A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. He never asked questions; he never addressed his companions; and frequently he took off his cap and wiped his forehead. Ann Veronica tried to keep hold of a complicated situation and not lose her head. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor.
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