"Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. "Aye—to pretend to her that you don't care. If you can’t see as how there ain’t nothing in this barrack of a place to help me do the job, I can. An unhappy little sigh escaped her. Mac would have some new yarns to spin and a fresh turn-over to his celebrated liver. He found himself growing hoarse yelling over the music, but it also situated him to lean towards her to put his hand on her ear to aid her hearing. Michelle’s eyes were red and bloodshot. You can’t possibly understand!” He began a confused explanation, a perplexing contradictory apology for his urgency and wrath. My very sentences stumble and give way.
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