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The mind builds itself like a sirrah’s nest with whatever is at hand: silk threads and stolen hair and the feathers of dead kin.

"What is the matter, sirrah?" cried the Count somewhat sharply.

"And who are you, sirrah?" demanded Felgate, giving him a fierce look that cowed him for the time.

He had told me that my tongue outran my thoughts, and I stood silent until he asked me curtly, "Well, sirrah, what do you say?"

Bear it in mind, sirrah; and when you perform, give Perigord a wide berth.