"I wouldn't give a betel-nut for a man who wouldn't stick to his guns, if he believed himself in the right. It’s just like your Splendid Pride to do it. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. It fell to the ground and smoked ominously. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. Within forty-eight hours the girl would be on her way east and the boy see-sawing the South China Sea, for ever moving at absolute angles. Even, I do not mind to study this Latin so abominable. Mr. Everybody talking of you.
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