“Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly. "I didn't imagine for a moment that you'd accept it, but I thought it right to make you the offer. What sort of a human being are you, anyhow?" Enschede gazed seaward. Clergymen were human. Oh God! my limbs fail me. Here are their letters. By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto.
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