See how he gets on, father," he added, appealing to Wood: "the box seems to grow under his hands. Perhaps you will meet him someday. It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone. Have you not tired of sadness and pain?” 81 She thought she could hear tears in his voice but would not look at him.
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