Folding his arms, he placed his back against the door, and burst into a loud laugh. Here her strength completely failed her, and she was compelled to seek some repose. I have pleaded with her—no wonder that I have pleaded with her in vain. “I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent.
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