“John. When Claude Du Val was in Newgate thrown, He carved his name on the dungeon stone; Quoth a dubsman, who gazed on the shattered wall, "You have carved your epitaph, Claude Du Val, With your chisel so fine, tra la!" "This S wants a little deepening," mused the apprentice, retouching the letter in question; "ay, that's better. He turned. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. He had invited himself to dine with her merely to watch her table manners. She backed away from him. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. He reminds me of a slave I once had in Rome with those sullen dark eyes and that wistful pout.
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