But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast. "I thought you'd have got rid of your ill-humour by this time. At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted. It seems only yesterday that she was running down the Avenue, all hair and legs. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. He knew she had been weeping. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. A pretty name for a pretty girl.
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