’ ‘It cannot be helped now. “Your mother was a Gypsy. On the Day he had trumpet-like outbreaks of cordiality, varied by a watchful preoccupation. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. Notwithstanding the heat of the season,—which was not, however, found particularly inconvenient in this subterranean region,—a large heaped-up fire blazed ruddily in one corner, and lighted up a circle of as villanous countenances as ever flame shone upon.
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