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Brisher's voice sank to a whisper, and once more he spoke behind his hand. His manner was suddenly suffused with a positive joy. "Issuing counterfeit coins," he said. "Counterfeit coins!" "You don't mean to say ?" "Yes-It. Bad. Quite a long case they made of it. But they got 'im, though he dodged tremenjous. Traced 'is 'aving passed, oh! nearly a dozen bad 'arf-crowns." "And you didn't ?"
And for some time he was content to repeat that he had found a treasure and left it. I made no vulgar clamour for a story, but I became attentive to Mr. Brisher's bodily needs, and presently I led him back to the deserted lady. "She was a nice girl," he said a little sadly, I thought. "AND respectable."
Brisher's hand shot above his head towards the infinite to indicate it silk hat of the highest. "Umbrella nice umbrella with a 'orn 'andle. Savin's. Very careful I was...." He was pensive for a little while, thinking, as we must all come to think sooner or later, of the vanished brightness of youth. But he refrained, as one may do in taprooms, from the obvious moral.
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