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"Oh, easily enough," rejoined the other. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. " "By no means," rejoined Wood, hastily. “And you?” “Same thing. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. She foraged about in her mind for some satisfying equivalent which would express in English this gurgling drone the Chinese called a language.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 25-09-2024 14:54:04