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"That is the Bible. I do not know what the Tee Albare is!" Frowenfeld darted an aroused glance into the ever-courteous eyes of his visitor, who said without a motion: "You di'n't gave Agricola Fusilier une ouangan, la nuit passé?" "Sir?" "Ee was yeh? laz nighd?" "Mr. Fusilier was here last night yes. He had been attacked by an assassin and slightly wounded.
"Have a seat, sir," urged the apothecary. His visitor again declined, with his uniform melancholy grace. He drew close to Frowenfeld. "Ah wand you mague me one ouangan," he said. Joseph shook his head. He remembered Doctor Keene's expressed suspicion concerning the assault of the night before. "I do not understand you, sir; what is that?" "You know."
He was too much awed to speak; the ejaculation that started toward his lips turned back and rushed into his heart, and it was the quadroon who, after a moment, broke the silence: "Ah ham de holdez son of Numa Grandissime." "Yes yes," said Frowenfeld, as if he would wave away something terrible. "Nod sell me ouangan?" asked the landlord, again.
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