It had been discussed in silence. Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. "Well, you never can tell," he continued, lamely. Besides, revenge is sweetened by delay; and I indulge too freely in the passion to rob it of any of its zest. I sang to him, and he was satisfied.
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