His hand shook so violently that he dropped the handkerchief; and he let it lie on the floor because he dared not stoop. ‘My God!’ he said, ‘I’ll go after them and kill him. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. Here you are, young, sound, with a heart that will recover in no time, provided you keep liquor out of it. .
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