" "None whatever," replied the mob. Admire her as much as you choose—at a distance. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. She made a curious movement toward her niece, then suddenly, convulsively, she dabbed down something lumpy on the table and turned to follow her brother. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. CHAPTER XVII. .
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