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With a drawling dull indifference, the lank, hatchet-faced servitor of the master servitor of the grave read off the items: The Relict of Josue Anquetil, Centenier, in account with Etienne Mahye, Master of Burials. Item: Livres. Sols. Farth.
"But I made the most of Josue," continued the Master. "The mouth was crooked, but he was clean, clean I shaved him just in time. And he had good hair for combing to a peaceful look, and he was light to carry O my good! Go on, what has Josue the centenier to say for himself?"
With a drawling dull indifference, the lank, hatchet-faced servitor of the master servitor of the grave read off the items: The Relict of Josue Anquetil, Centenier, in account with Etienne Mahye, Master of Burials. Item: Livres. Sols. Farth.
"But he has folded sails now." "Ma fe, yes, he sleeps like a porpoise now, and white as a wax he looked up there in the Cohue Royale," put in a centenier standing by. A voice came shrilly over the head of the centenier. "As white as you'll look yellow one day, bat'd'lagoule! Yellow and green, oui-gia yellow like a bad apple, and cowardly green as a leek." This was Manon Moignard the witch.
"Man doux d'la vie, where's the Master of Burials?" babbled the jailer. "The apprentice does the obs'quies to-day." "The Master's sick of a squinzy," grunted the centenier. "So hatchet- face and bundle-o'-nails there brings dust to dust, amen."
"Never," said another of the peasants. "He said a spy had got admission on false pretences." "There is no one here but I," said Le Gallais. "Do you take me for a spy?" "We do not, Alain. Vive M. le Capitaine! What shall we do with him?" said many friendly voices. "Take him to the Centenier under the Gallows-hill," said Alain, availing himself of the rising tide.
Aubins. "That Chevalier of Champsavoys and the other Duc de Bercy," interposed the centenier. Maitre Damian tapped his stick upon the ground, and said oracularly: "It is not for me to say, but which is the rightful Duke and which is not, there is the political question!" "Pardi, that's it," answered the centenier.
The weapon missed the Chevalier, but laid low a centenier, who, though a municipal officer, had in the excitement lost his head like his neighbours. This but increased the rage against the foreigner, and was another crime to lay to his charge. A smuggler thereupon kicked him in the side. At that moment there came a cry of indignation from a girl at an upper window of the Place.
Elliot," presently said Marguerite, addressing her sister in English. "Mr. Chevalier, the Centenier, told you of his return but yesterday when we went to the market at S. Helier. I admire to see him here so soon." Rose advanced, with the restored self-possession of a lady on her own hearth, and gave the visitor her hand. "Welcome back to Jersey, Mr. Elliot.
"But he has folded sails now." "Ma fe, yes, he sleeps like a porpoise now, and white as a wax he looked up there in the Cohue Royale," put in a centenier standing by. A voice came shrilly over the head of the centenier. "As white as you'll look yellow one day, bat'd'lagoule! Yellow and green, oui-gia yellow like a bad apple, and cowardly green as a leek." This was Manon Moignard the witch.
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