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He's now in spring-ankle warehouse with Sir Rowland Trenchard. One or two of the tables were occupied by groups of fat frowzy women in flat caps, with rings on their thumbs, and baskets by their sides; and no one who had listened for a single moment to their coarse language and violent abuse of each other, would require to be told they were fish-wives from Billingsgate. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. ‘Her purpose, if you will believe me, is to get herself a dowry so that she may marry an Englishman. It may be instinctive; it may be that children vaguely realize that at the end of all wedding journeys is disillusion. ’ ‘Do you indeed?’ rejoined the old lady, twinkling at him, and urging him towards the door. ‘Like you?’ ‘But I am not French. It came to her that to marry any one but Capes was impossible. My wife—killed me. “Go on,” he said. I do not know how I shall get it, but I must, you understand.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 27-09-2024 12:21:47