The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. Pearls in the dawn light, flashing and burning! "You don't like your island?" "I hate it!… But, there!"—weariness edging in. Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble. "What's this here kinchen in for?" asked Terence, as he and Quilt strode along, with Thames between them. I desire, Sir, you'll recollect yourself.
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