I've come all these miles for this young fellow; but I don't cotton to the idea of lallygagging four weeks in this burg. "Patience Kite has lured him to Enfield on a false scent after Blueskin. \"Some of them do smell good, though. But it seemed that their presence was not even suspected. Twelve years ago! It is an awful retrospect. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. That's a queer yarn. Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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