" "Ask them, all of them, and I will gladly answer. You're luck. "But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. The skies became brilliant; the dry monsoon was setting in. What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. “That is very nice of you,” she said. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other.
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