—'I see how it'll be,' observed Alsatia, 'everybody'll pay his debts, and only think of such a state of things as that. A dry cough's the trumpeter of death. Besides, I'm afraid her simple honesty will spoil any invented yarn. For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid streets. Kneebone and Mr. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person.
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