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Chapter 11

           ’”

           Hemockedmewiththesenselessrefraininanear-janglingfalsetto.WithoutdoubtIhadbawledthenonsenseoutonmywaytobed.

           “Youhaveagoodmemory,”Icommenteddrily,asIessayedamomenttodrapemyshoulderswiththenewsablecloakereItossedittoPonstoputaside.Heshookhisheadsourly.

           “Noneedofmemorywhenyouroareditoverandoverforthethousandthtimetillhalftheinnwasa-knockatthedoortospityouforthesleep-killeryouwere.AndwhenIhadyoudecentlyinthebed,didyounotcallmetoyouandcommand,ifthedevilcalled,totellhimmyladyslept?Anddidyounotcallmebackagain,and,withagriponmyarmthatleavesitbruisedandblackthisday,commandme,asIlovedlife,fatmeat,andthewarmfire,tocallyounotofthemorningsaveforonething?”

           “Whichwas?”Iprompted,unableforthelifeofmetoguesswhatIcouldhavesaid.

           “Whichwastheheartofone,ablackbuzzard,yousaid,bynameMartinelli—whoeverhemaybe—fortheheartofMartinellismokingonagoldplatter.Theplattermustbegold,yousaid;andyousaidImustcallyoubysinging,‘Singcucu,singcucu,singcucu.’Whereatyoubegantoteachmehowtosing,‘Singcucu,singcucu,singcucu.

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