Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. He threw up his hand, reeled for a moment on his feet, and collapsed upon the floor. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. Stanley, and went into his study. By Jasus! he's about to spake to us.
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