'
And the gentlemen began spouting their theories about the murder and
Nutter, in a desultory way; for they all knew the warrant was out
against him.
'My opinion,' said Toole, knocking out the ashes of his pipe upon the
hob; for he held his tongue while smoking, and very little at any other
time; 'and I'll lay a guinea 'twill turn out as I say--the poor fellow's
drowned himself. Few knew Nutter--I doubt if _any_ one knew him as I
did. Why he did not seem to feel anything, and you'd ha' swore nothing
affected him, more than that hob, Sir; and all the time, there wasn't a
more thin-skinned, atrabilious poor dog in all Ireland--but honest,
Sir--thorough steel, Sir. All I say is, if he had a finger in that ugly
pie, you know, as some will insist, I'll stake my head to a china
orange, 'twas a fair front to front fight. By Jupiter, Sir, there wasn't
one drop of cur's blood in poor Nutter. No, poor fellow; neither sneak
nor assassin _there_--'
'They thought he drowned himself from his own garden--poor Nutter,' said
Major O'Neill.
'Well, that he did _not_,' said Toole. 'That unlucky shoe, you know,
tells a tale; but for all that, I'm clear of the opinion that drowned he
is.
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