"My son! my dear, dear son!" returned Mrs. A granddaughter of mine!’ The idiocy of this notion stuck in his craw and he could think of nothing else for a moment. Bribble’s rendering of the service —he had the sort of voice that brings out things—and was still teeming with ideas about it when finally a wild outburst from the organ made it clear that, whatever snivelling there might be down in the chancel, that excellent wind instrument was, in its Mendelssohnian way, as glad as ever it could be. It was easy for him to see that she desired to be agreeable to him. “Where is she?” He would yell even louder until she was sure that people in faraway fishing boats could probably hear him. “Why?” he asked, suavely. "Where am I?" asked Spurlock.
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