"Shall I fetch it for you, Sir?" "By all means. “I don’t think our engagement can go on,” she plunged, and felt exactly that loss of breath that comes with a dive into icy water. Are you quite shure you haven't another alyas, Masther Thames Ditton?" "Darrell, I tell you. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. But to go courting a slave-girl, at the risk of physical hurt! A shudder of distaste wrinkled her shoulders. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road.
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