But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a hint—a fellow countrywoman too. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. I went to the theatre that night. You hear what I say, Quilt?" he added, looking at Jack. She went about the familiar home with a clearer and clearer sense of inevitable conclusions. At the same moment a martial flourish, proceeding from cow's horns, tin canisters filled with stones, bladders and cat-gut, with other sprightly, instruments, was struck up, and, enlivened by this harmonious accompaniment, the troop reached its destination in the best possible spirits for an encounter. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. " "That's not likely to be the case, if you go on in this way," replied Thames, sharply.
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