“I changed my last shilling yesterday. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. ‘Don’t dare address me by such a title. It would make the young wife unhappy. " "It ought to be; it cost enough to get it here," said the Scot, ruefully.
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