But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors. Arrived at Paddington, he struck across Marylebone Fields,—for as yet the New Road was undreamed of,—and never moderated his speed until he reached the city. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. It was not your fault you failed. Cloud back of your hat!" He opened his eyes again.
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