He looked the boy over with interest. “John?” He turned around in the recliner. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. While this was going on, Blueskin, seeing no notice whatever taken of him, coughed loudly and repeatedly. I'll tell you what. "Too late, master," replied the landlord of the Trumpeter, in a surly tone, for he did not much like the appearance of his customer; "just shut up shop. But this revulsion was engulfed by the succeeding waves of pity and understanding.
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