Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. This is clear over my head. “Not a bit of it,” he said; “it’s only a score in a game. "He threatens, does he?" "More than that," replied Kneebone; "I understand he drew a knife upon Jonathan, in a quarrel between them lately.
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