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a web of many textures

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Will you please to play Apollyon crossing the
Alps?” said Mrs. Partington, reaching out of her chamber
window, as an organ-man was turning his crank
with a persistent arm beneath. — “Non entendez,” said
he, looking up, and smiling at her. — “Can't you play it
in less than ten days?” replied she, in an elevated key. —
“Non entendez,” said he again, still smiling at her, and
turning away at the crank. — “Not in ten days,” she
mused; “I suppose he means it will take more than ten
days to learn it so as to play it exceptionably.” She
gave Ike a five-cent piece to carry down to him.