Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. You shall have a house out at Balham or Sydenham, and two servants. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in confident tones to herself.
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