All this time, the bereaved father has not been seen even by his attendant; for he sits in a corner of his own dark room—Chap. xviii.
It was repeated often—very often, in the shadowy solitude; and broken murmurs of the strain still trembled on the keys, when the sweet voice was hushed in tears—Chap. xviii.
Took Uncle Sol's snuff-coloured lappels, one in each hand; kissed him on the cheek, etc.—Chap. xix.
"Take advice from plain old Joe, and never educate that sort of people, sir," returned the major. "Damme, sir, it never does! It always fails!"—Chap. xx.