He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes. “I will put the question,” Drummond said gravely. Wood became sensible that he was not alone. ” He said. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. "Well, gentlemen," rejoined Wood, mildly; "since Mr. They were childless and servantless, and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales.
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