“He is not—I don’t like him. Why? If she had put the query to herself, she could not have answered it. Remember that I’ve seen Brewis Charvill, and I’m well aware of your identity. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. ’ She bit her lip and thought deeply. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. Wood. The grim mockery of it!—those South Sea loafers, taking advantage of Enschede's Christianity and imposing upon him, accepting his money and medicines and laughing behind his back! No doubt they made the name a byword and a subject for ribald jest in the waterfront bars.
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