“Please forgive me, Lucy. But I don’t want to. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. Shari was snoring, the pill having worked its magic. Would there be enough in the young man's envelope to pay the doctor and the hotel bill—and in the event of his death, enough to ship the body home? So all things pointed to the happy circumstance of setting this young fool upon his feet again, of seeing him hence upon his journey. Every eye was fixed upon the prisoner. Set yourself to find it out, if you will—but if you do, never dare to call yourself my friend again. So saying, he manfully resumed his work; while Wood and Thames quitted the room, and went down stairs.
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