“And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. "I'll find you out. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. But she did not bother her head very much about her relations with these sympathizers. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. The Wastrel did not relish this. It was wonderful. Major said you’d gorn. ’ Jack gasped. Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. "You've been quizzing my friend Kent, I perceive, in your Burlington Gate. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped.
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