Quilt's manner, indeed, was that of a man endeavouring to muster up sufficient resolution for the commission of some desperate crime. “Not a bit of it,” he said; “it’s only a score in a game. "Hear me," he cried, restraining himself with difficulty. Figg! In a few minutes, all will be over. For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. Spurling, (for she it was,) either by her attractions of purse or person, had succeeded in moving the stony heart of Mr. "But—sapperment!—I wish they hadn't broken my pipe. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. Most of them didn’t, anyhow. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done.
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