She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. I can smell you. "You do love me?" "God knows how much!" Suddenly he laid his head on her shoulder. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford.
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