" "O Jack, dear, dear Jack!" cried Mrs. He knew it was unnerving, he did it to everyone, even his own kin. ‘See that writing table? Go and look in the drawer there. He had need of all the inexhaustible energy of his character to support him through his toilsome walk over the wet grass, or along the slippery ploughed land. But perhaps if people didn’t like clear, bright, healthy eyes—which is biologically understandable—they couldn’t like precious stones. Yet you make our Bohemianism seem like a vulgar thing.
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