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Updated: May 31, 2025
"Such a bit of plunder as this must be sent abroad. I dursn't attempt to get rid of it here." "That's your business. My business is how much'll you give." Dr. Mountchance named a sum ridiculously low so Sally thought. Then ensued a long haggle which was settled at last by a compromise and Sally departed.
Unconscious of the destiny awaiting her, Lavinia was employing the same tenderness of look, the same captivating pathos of tone as when two years later she, as Polly Peachum, sang "Oh ponder well," and won the heart of the Duke of Bolton. "H'm, h'm," grunted Mountchance, "you pretty witch. Must I humour ye?" "Of course you must. You're so kind and always ready to help others."
She was not given to curbing her temper, and leaning back in the chair, her body rigid, she beat a tattoo with her high-heeled shoes and clenched her fists till the knuckles whitened. Mountchance had seen hysterical women oft times and was not troubled. He opened a stoppered bottle and held its rim to the lady's nose.
"You shall have all the coin that old miser Mountchance gives me for your next haul of trinkets. I won't touch a farthing for my trouble." Rofflash stipulated for money down. "You won't get a stiver," retorted Sally. "I'm as cleaned out as a gutted herring. That cheating cat Anastasia bagged every shilling I had." Rofflash had no reason to doubt Sally's word.
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