But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. David Courtlaw. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. Stanley admired and detested him in almost equal measure. She dived at once behind the cover of the lamproom and affected serious trouble with her shoe-lace until he was out of the station, and then she followed slowly and with extreme discretion until the bifurcation of the Avenue from the field way insured her escape.
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