I asked several shopkeepers the same question: ‘Do you know the blue-eyed maid with the curly brown hair? She has a mother who is fair with the same eyes. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. “Have you dropped from the skies?” Sydney asked wonderingly. ‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I have found you!’ He would listen to nothing. You cannot depart hence. Wanted her out of the way because he had been afraid of her, afraid of himself! He, at fifty-four! Then into this void poured a flaming anger, a blind and unreasoning anger. I am sorry to seem to disobey you, but I am.
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