The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. We men are like children. You’ll never see the light of day as long as you live. ” She said. He lit a cigarette and loitered about. The stranger with a bow returned to his table. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption.
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