Charvill’s fury was burning out. "The ban-dogs!" thundered a tall man, whose stature and former avocations had procured him the nickname of "The long drover of the Borough market. He pretended to be unaware of the mishap. I’ve loved her for two years, I love her now. It was all highly intriguing. Presently she became aware of footsteps hurrying after her, and glanced back to find Miss Klegg, a little out of breath, in pursuit. Everything was going to hell. Perhaps, as you say, I do not really care—but I cannot do it. " With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break.
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