"Strange!" he continued, as if talking to himself. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. He was an odd one, especially for a young man. On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. Rollo began to cavort. "Or trying to be," answered the doctor. I haven’t, anyhow. Women! He is always chanting the praise of some discovery; sometimes it will be a native, often a white woman out of the stews.
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