" "Leave you!" echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; "—not just yet. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. I just don’t know where to start. My mother shall never degrade herself by a connection with you. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. Not at all. Why may I not be your friend? Somehow or other I feel that you have been driven into a false position.
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