No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. Both of them would be committing novel and unforgettable acts. He whispered in her ear. I’m sick of this town and I can’t wait to get out. ’ For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour. Rowland, meantime, alarmed by the voices, snatched a torch from his attendant, and holding it over the side of the wherry, witnessed the incident just described.
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