Neither of them threw on the six numbers Woodseer would have selected, and they lost.

He stated that the number of 17 had won before.

Abrane tried the transversal enclosing this favoured number.

'Of course!' he cried, with foul resignation and a hostile glare: the ball had seated itself and was grinning at him from the lowest of the stalls.
Fleetwood quitted the table-numbers to throw on Pair; he won, won again, pushed his luck and lost, dragging Abrane with him.

The giant varied his tone of acquiescence in Fortune's whims: 'Of course! I 've only to fling! Luck hangs right enough till I put down my stake.' 'If the luck has gone three times, the chances....' Woodseer was rather inquiring than pronouncing....