I'm no mollycoddle. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner. Gerald watched its approach with vague interest, which quickened when he saw that it was drawing up outside the very house out of which he had just stepped. ” “Well?” “Sir John came to me—that you know—and you can guess what I told him. Natives are queer.
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