"Eh, but this is bad news!" says old Scully, evidently terrified and disheartened by his niece's words. "Where will it all end? Come in, Misther Rodney: let me look at ye, boy. No, not a word out of ye now till ye taste something. 'Tis in bits ye are; an' a good coat it was this mornin'. There's the whiskey, Mona, agra, an' there's the wather. Oh! the black villain! Let me examine ye, me son. Why, there's blood on ye! Oh! the murthering thief!",
The music, soft and almost mournful, echoes through the room; the feet keep time upon the oaken floor; weird-like the two forms move through the settled gloom.,
"I shall make myself plainer. What servant did you bribe to leave the window open for you at this hour?".
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