Spurlock felt very well pleased with himself. He hated himself a little for it. Tom Sheppard was always a close file, and would never tell whom he married. And Miss Miniver fell discussing whether Goopes or Bernard Shaw or Tolstoy or Doctor Tumpany or Wilkins the author had the more powerful and perfect mind in existence at the present time. Wood thought them both remarkably plain, but Mr. Arrived at Paddington, he struck across Marylebone Fields,—for as yet the New Road was undreamed of,—and never moderated his speed until he reached the city. I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois.
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