“Bother it all!” she swore. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. If he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal. She stood face to face with him, and his voice cut across her speech and made her stop abruptly. She had never imagined life was half so sinister as it looked to her in the beginning of these investigations. “What is the good of talking?” said her brother.
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