The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Traversing what remained of Wych Street at a rapid pace, and speeding along Drury Lane, the trio soon found themselves in Kendrick Yard. "And you would surrender yourself —eh?" "I'll surrender myself at once, if you'll engage to bring him off; and you'll get the reward from old Wood. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. I don’t think we’re altogether to blame if we don’t take some of your lot seriously. . Why? While the front of his mind was busy warning her not to fall into the hopeless miseries of underpaid teaching, and explaining his idea that for women of initiative, quite as much as for men, the world of business had by far the best chances, the back chambers of his brain were busy with the problem of that “Why?” His first idea as a man of the world was to explain her unrest by a lover, some secret or forbidden or impossible lover. “We’re going to be sensible. ‘Softly, you say?’ she uttered, raging.
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