. Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. "Your son is a lad of spirit, Mr. He was caked with dried muck. ’ He regarded her thoughtfully. Maggot, eyeing him from head to heel with evident satisfaction;—"a devilish pretty fellow!" "Upon my word, Poll," said Kneebone, becoming very red, "you might have a little more delicacy than to tell him so before my face. I shan't drive a hard bargain. Besides," she added, blushing yet more deeply, "it isn't a proper one to talk upon.
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