I do not want to get only a second-hand flavour of life. Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. Until he felt a sharpness digging into his coat at the point of his heart. “He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. Miss Klegg raised the question of women’s suffrage, and he set himself to provoke a duel between her and Miss Garvice. His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was—London. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers.
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