She hesitated, and for a moment thought of omitting her second verse altogether. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. “Yeah, where the hell were you? My friends would have driven you home when I came home if I could have found you. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. In Hamilton Place that is, like I told you before, miss. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas. "Think not to deceive me, monster. ‘I live in Kent. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg.
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