Dese ere not schouts, as you faind, but jonkers on a vrolyk; and if dey'd chanshed to keel de vrow Sheppard's pet lamb, dey'd have done her a servish, by shaving it from dat unpleasant complaint, de hempen fever, with which its laatter days are threatened, and of which its poor vader died. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. She is your sister, and God knows I wish her none.
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