"Sally Salisbury--the devil!" he ejaculated.
"Not quite, but a near relative may be," rejoined Sally with a sarcastic
laugh. "Who's the spark you're so thick with?"
"The fool who's mad to get hold of the prettiest wench in town--Lavinia
Fenton."
"That little trollop! I hate the creature. But there's no need to talk
of her. What of the man I paid you to track? Have you found him?"
Rofflash watched her face, what he could see of it, for she had not
unmasked, and noted the slight quiver of the lips and the rise and fall
of her bosom.
"Faith mistress," he chuckled with a drunken leer, "if you're not as
crazy over the beggarly scribbler as my young gallant is over the Fenton
girl who lives in the Old Bailey--at a coffee house, forsooth! Why, to
see the pother you're in one would think the hussy had put your nose out
of joint. Perhaps she has. She's fetching enough."
Sally seized the captain's arm with a vigorous grip that showed the
intensity of her feelings. He winced and muttered an oath.
"S'life," he burst out, "save your nails for the girl who's cut you out
with the scribbler."
"She? You lie. What has he to do with the minx?"
"As much as he need have to start with. Didn't he help her to escape
from Dorrimore's arms when the fool thought he had her safe?"
"What!" screamed Sally, "Was _he_ the man?"
"Aye. I've not yet plucked the crow between him and me for that, but by
gad, I mean to pluck it.
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