"What do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried Wood, reddening with anger. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. " "What has he done?" "He has just naturally peeved his Uncle Sam. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed.
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