'Imagine yourself thousands of years away from this
time. Imagine yourself thousands of miles away, among real
Egyptians.'
'Real 'Gyptians!' cried Sinfi. 'Who says the Romanies ain't real
'Gyptians? Anybody as says my daddy ain't a real 'Gyptian duke'll ha'
to set to with Sinfi Lovell.'
'Nonsense,' said Cyril, smiling, and playing idly with a coral amulet
dangling from Sinfi's neck; 'he's talking about the ancient
Egyptians: Egyptian mummies, you silly Lady Sinfi. You're not a
mummy, are you?'
'Well, no, I ain't a mummy as fur as I knows on,' said Sinfi, only
half-appeased; 'but my daddy's a 'Gyptian duke for all that,--ain't
you, dad?'
'So it seems, Sin,' said Panuel, 'but I ommust begin to wish I
worn't; it makes you feel so blazin' shy bein' a duke all of a
suddent.'
'Dabla!' said the guest Jericho Boswell. 'What, Pan, has she made a
dook on ye?'
The Scollard began to grin.
'Pull that ugly mug o' yourn straight, Jim Herne,' said Sinfi, 'else
I'll come and pull it straight for you.'
Wilderspin took no notice of the interruption, but addressed me as
though no one else were within earshot.
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