“I can sing the songs ‘Alcide’ sang, and in the same style. He was no Hoddy, but a tremendous man, with hairy arms and bearded face and drink-shattered intellect. On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. ‘Come on, Hilary. " "Six weeks!" exclaimed Thames, in a melancholy tone.
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