‘But, Russett, will you listen?’
‘Has the luck been civil of late?’
‘I think of something else at present. No, it has not.’
‘Abrane?’
‘Pray, attend to me. No, not Abrane.’
‘I believe you’ve all been cleared out in my absence. St. Ombre?’
Her complexion varied. ‘Mr. Ambrose Mallard has once or twice... But let me beg you—the town is rageing with it. My dear Russett, a bold front now; there ‘s the chance of your release in view.’
‘A rascal in view! Name the sum.’
‘I must reckon. My head is—can you intend to submit?’
‘So it’s Brosey Mallard now. You choose your deputy queerly. He’s as bad as Abrane, with steam to it. Chummy Potts would have done better.’