That boy," he added, looking at Thames, "has his eye upon us. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. He's an interpretative genius, if there ever was one. In truth, she liked Gerald also. I worshipped her and subdued myself. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. And would you mind hurrying a little. He talked at the blackboard in a pleasant, very slightly lisping voice with a curious spontaneity, and was sometimes very clumsy in his exposition, and sometimes very vivid. “I won’t pretend,” he said, “that this is an accident. And it hampers us.
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