No matter how many books one read, each was different, as each human being was different. My business is with Lady Trafford. Only in the sunshine; they would not answer my whistle on cloudy days. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction.
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