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But there's a kin' o' roost that gathers and a kin' o' moth that breeds i' the gowd and siller whan they're laid up i' the hert; and the roost's an awfu' thing for eatin' awa', and the moth-craters hae teeth as hard's the siller that breeds them; and instead o' eatin' the siller, like the meal-worms, they fa' upo' the girnel itsel' that's the heart; and afore lang the hert itsel's roostit awa' wi' the roost, and riddlet through and through wi' the moths, till it's a naisty fushionless thing, o' no use to God or man, not even to mak' muck o'. Sic a crater's hardly worth damnin'."
The room was a fairly large one, gaudily appointed with cheap furnishings, one of the Roost's private parlors a girl on a couch in the corner had raised herself on her elbow, and her dark eyes were fixed uncompromisingly upon the Flopper, but she made no answer.
"Wall, wall, wall, so it's really you," said the touter of a fur house, in extremely friendly voice; "come in now and we'll hev a drink." "No, sir-ree," said Bill decisively, "I don't drink till business is done." "Wall, now, Bill, here's Van Roost's not ten steps away an' he hez tapped the finest bar'l in years." "No, I tell ye, I'm not drinking now." "Wall, all right, ye know yer own business.
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