“I have come for an explanation,” she said. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. “Troubles, my friend,” she exclaimed lightly. Near the body, which, it will be surmised, was that of Abraham Mendez, two ruffianly personages were seated, quietly smoking, and bestowing no sort of attention upon the new-comers. She knew, too, she must not hesitate. Drink for him had a queer phase.
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