She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. “He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg. The word handsome was a little beyond her grasp. If only he had known it, sympathy was almost entirely with him. He went on with his song, accompanying it with the most ridiculous grimaces: "When years were gone by, she began to rue Her love for the gentleman, (meaning you!) 'I slighted the journeyman fond,' quoth she, 'But where is my gallant of high degree? Where! where! Oh! where is my gallant of high degree?' Ho! ho! ho!" "What are you doing here!" demanded Thames. ” Brendon laughed softly.
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