Near the body, which, it will be surmised, was that of Abraham Mendez, two ruffianly personages were seated, quietly smoking, and bestowing no sort of attention upon the new-comers. “You must fetch a doctor,” she said. That’s what I mean. Half the rooms empty. So he made his dispositions and went off on some other fool’s errand. At the same moment a martial flourish, proceeding from cow's horns, tin canisters filled with stones, bladders and cat-gut, with other sprightly, instruments, was struck up, and, enlivened by this harmonious accompaniment, the troop reached its destination in the best possible spirits for an encounter. It’s no good. A feeling of inexplicable awe crept over the carpenter as the sounds died away.
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