“It was only
yesterday I had your letter, and you never mentioned coming over. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was,
perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the
desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. “How well and jolly
you must be feeling. "
"True," replied the widow, upon whom all the terrible recollections of the day
before crowded, "I know it isn't. That he should pay forty pounds to help this girl who preferred another man
was no less in his eyes than a fraud and mockery that made her denial a
maddening and outrageous disgrace to him. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a
brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that
goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. If you don’t eat humble-pie now you may live to fare
worse later. He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew
from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it. God, Lucy, what’s it been, how
many years?”
“I’m so sorry, John.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 30-06-2024 05:04:39