The lines about his mouth gradually softened. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. At the first glance, he imagined he must have stumbled upon a museum of rarities, there were so many glass-cases, so many open cabinets, ranged against the walls; but the next convinced him that if Jonathan was a virtuoso, his tastes did not run in the ordinary channels. In the matter of his conscience he was primitive; and for an educated man to become primitive is to become something of a child. "Enough's as good as a feast. CHAPTER I.
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