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Darting down Field-lane, Jack struck into a labyrinth of streets on the left; but
though he ran as swiftly as he could, he was not unperceived. “You cowards!”
said Ann Veronica, “put her down!” and tore herself from a detaining hand and
battered with her fists upon the big red ear and blue shoulder of the policeman
who held the little old lady. So he
sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page
he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. And if the woman is not
a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on
the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the
foot of the stairs. "He's a base, deceitful,
tyrannical, hoary-headed libertine—that's what he is. It was neither good nor bad.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 05-07-2024 20:43:34