\"No, not really. No fear o' that. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. At last, he got into a lane, but had not proceeded far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse's tread. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. ’ ‘That’s fortunate,’ murmured Lucilla. ’” She played “If I Were a Rich Man,” adding syrupy trills and flourishes at every phrase. ‘But it is not on the horse at all, Jacques. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. "No offence," returned Jonathan. Old Bedlam 291 IX.
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