"It's a miserable weakness to be afraid of bloodshed. In fact, Gerald had given order to the coachman to drive out of Golden Square and then stop around the corner. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Pretty! Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights! “You shall tell me your faults,” said Manning.
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