They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. In any case, there was no doing anything on a Sunday and Brewis Charvill, his main quarry, had gone out of town unexpectedly. Yes; she had heard the music the night before. "I had one," answered his sister, in a mournful voice; "and, perhaps, I have one still.
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