My father's chief fear, I must tell you, is from the baneful influence of Jonathan Wild. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. Capes was irritatingly judicial in the matter, neither absurdly against, in which case one might have smashed him, or hopelessly undecided, but tepidly sceptical. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life. Hurrying on, his progress was soon checked by a strong door, several inches in thickness, and nearly as wide as the passage. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she panted, shifting wildly in his hold, so that he had all to do to keep her thus imprisoned. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “these gentlemen are your friends, and therefore they are my friends. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion.
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