"Ay, ay, I'll go, fast enough!" returned Jonathan, putting his hands into his pockets, "but not alone, Sir Rowland. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. She’s right upstairs. And, stretching out his hand, he lifted the dark object from the flood. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. Then she spoke, with a carelessness he instantly suspected.
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