How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. "What?—help take care of him? Why, you can't do that, Miss Enschede!" was the protest. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. " "None whatever," replied the mob. What! mum still. “I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders.
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