“Permit me to offer you the English paper which has just arrived, Sir John,” he said, holding out a Daily Telegraph. I hear the sound of his horse's feet in the yard. I can't concentrate on my work. I decline to waste a single second even in considering the ugly ones. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. Marvel, who, as he had helped to deprive her of her former husbands, thought himself in duty bound to offer to supply their place.
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