"The night before last, Mr. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. After occupying himself thus for the best part of an hour, he thought Jack must have given him the slip. The police are concerned in it in either event. He was a comforting, humorous old ruffian; but there were few men in the Orient more deeply read in psychology and physiognomy. People sat in unusual pews, and a wide margin of hassocky emptiness intervened between the ceremony and the walls.
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