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“It jars. Ever hear of the djinn in the bottle? Like enough. "I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. Somehow I haven’t connected the idea with you. He hesitated. He seemed to stay away from her because she was so cold and formal towards him, addressing him as Mister McCloskey as if she were an Irish maid. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. Both had very singular faces; very odd wigs, very much pulled over their brows; and very large cravats, very much raised above their chins. On this fresh outburst of the storm, Wood threw himself instinctively into the bottom of the boat, and clasping the little orphan to his breast, endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his fate. My lads," he continued, addressing the partners; "when you've finished this job give that fellow a fresh set of darbies.
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