“TROUSERS!” she whispered. To his relief, Mrs Sindlesham stepped into the breach, grasping her cane and rising painfully from her chair. “When are you going away?” He asked. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. It is useless to talk. Marvel, who had been a little discomposed by the treatment he had experienced on Holborn Hill, very composedly filled and lighted his pipe.
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