Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. “John,” she said, “I can spare you that question. She had not thought anything could equal her despair at that moment.
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