Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. And an Englishman, which is my right of birth. You know the sort of thing. “Tut, tut!” he said. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. "On my soul, yes," rejoined Jonathan. Some of the lunatics were rattling their chains; some shrieking; some singing; some beating with frantic violence against the doors.
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