He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. Then Valade—was the man as big a fool as Nicholas?—tried again. . Marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by a dead dog, which was hurled against him, and struck him in the face. "'Cos there's a gale a-getting up as'll perwent you, young freshwater," replied the tar. “It is strange that we should have met Annabel,” she said.
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