“You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. Tell me why you ran away from the convent. Obey my orders, and you've nothing to fear. His grief was so audible, that it attracted the notice of some of the bystanders, and Thames was obliged to beg him to control it. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually.
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