In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. Good riddance. And her mother, looking unusually alert and hectic, wore cream and brown also, made up in a more complicated manner. ’ She advanced towards him. "What is he gone there for?" "With a message to the turnkey to look after his prisoner," replied Wild, with a cunning smile.
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