How old are you?’ ‘I have nineteen years, and it is quite unimportant. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. That would come later. ‘After all the threats you’ve made, that is hardly fair. This young man did not drink because he sought the false happiness that lured men to the bottle. And here are these places, full of contagion! “Of course, this is the real texture of life, this is what we refined secure people forget. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood.
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