"Why, Molly, Molly, Molly!" drawled that miserable man-doctor as he came and leaned on the sill right close to my elbow. The spoon crashed on the table, and I turned and crashed into words.,
"What do you say, Mr. Sarby?" asked Etwald, turning to the lawyer.,
"Supper—slice of toast and an apple." Why the apple? Why supper at all?.
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