Sure didn't they murdher wan of 'em, out an' out,
last night!"
"Is the man dead?"
"Dead? Troth he is. An' cowld."
"H'm"--through his compressed lips. "Flanagan, you needn't come up.
I know the door. Just hold the light for me here. There, that'll do.
Thank you." He whispered the last words from the top of the second
flight.
"Are ye there, docther?" Flanagan anxious to the last, and trying to
peer up at him with the lamplight in his eyes.
"Yes. That'll do. Thank you!" in the same whisper. Before he could tap
at the door, then darkening in the receding light, it opened suddenly,
and a big Irishwoman bounced out, and then whisked in again, calling
to some one in an inner room. "Here he is, Mrs. Mill'r"; and then bounced
out again, with a, "Walk royt in, if _you_ plaze; here's the choild";
and whisked in again, with a "Sure an' Jehms was quick"; never once
looking at him, and utterly unconscious of the presence of her landlord.
He had hardly stepped into the room and taken off his hat, when Mrs.
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