She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. In the midst of the holy place, which he had formerly profaned, lay the body of his unfortunate mother, and he could not help looking upon her untimely end as the retributive vengeance of Heaven for the crime he had committed. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. “With me I believe that it is more. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. Young noblemen ought to be indulged in their frolics. How much Mary knew is a mystery. I don’t think that the rest of the people here like us very well, do they, Arthur, so we’re obliged to be friends. “I’ve tried to make words tell it.
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