Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered. ‘I said you were sympathique,’ she told him. Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped. It's hereditary, like de jigt, vat you call it—gout —haw! haw!" "If the child is destined to the gibbet, Van Galgebrok," replied the Master, joining in the laugh, "it'll never be choked by a footman's cravat, that's certain; but, in regard to going back empty-handed," continued he, altering his tone, and assuming a dignified air, "it's quite out of the question. I am not French in the least.
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