It might prove rewarding. He stopped abruptly. Bribble’s rendering of the service —he had the sort of voice that brings out things—and was still teeming with ideas about it when finally a wild outburst from the organ made it clear that, whatever snivelling there might be down in the chancel, that excellent wind instrument was, in its Mendelssohnian way, as glad as ever it could be. Why not? Were not his own sentiments inclined in favour of the patient? But fifty gold was fifty gold. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. She offers me no explanation, permits me absolutely no hope. But two weeks later he returned. Evidently he was gazing at the dull red roofs of the city: but was he registering what he saw? Never glance sideways at man, the old Kanaka woman had said. "Back!" he cried fiercely. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals.
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