Stanley, in his effort to seem at ease, took entire possession of the hearthrug. A sprinkling of callow youths, and a couple of pronounced young Jews, who were talking loudly together in some unintelligible jargon of the City. "At length I am my own master," murmured the knight, as his foot touched the strand. But she no longer felt Jacomo’s age, even if she looked it. I'll think no more about her.
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