He spoke only when he saw the sing-song girl he wanted to buy. Sir Rowland, who had continued absorbed in thought, with his eyes fixed upon the sloop, as she made her way slowly down the river, disembarked more leisurely. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. It presented itself in the likeness of a great, gray, dull world—a brutal, superstitious, confused, and wrong-headed world, that hurt people and limited people unaccountably. “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes.
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