’ ‘Gammon!’ burst from the captain, who had just tossed off a glass of Madeira. Without her, it was lonely. “What was that?” she asked sharply. Taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled one of those vagabond heads which Murillo delighted to paint, and for which Guzman d'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, or Estevanillo Gonzalez might have sat:—faces that almost make one in love with roguery, they seem so full of vivacity and enjoyment. "Arrest!" "Jigger closed!" shouted a hoarse voice in reply. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers.
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