had been
involved
in
something
that he
did not
understand,
the lame,
dark
fiddler
limped his
way round
the
nearest
corner,
and for
two
streets at
least did
not stop.
Then,
counting
the silver
Fiorsen
had put
into his
hand and
carefully
examining
his
fiddle, he
used the
word,
"Bigre!"
and
started
for home.
XIX Gyp
hardly
slept at
all. Three
times she
got up,
and,
stealing
to the
door,
looked in
at her
sleeping
