He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. Her soul was full of the sense of disaster. Are you quite shure you haven't another alyas, Masther Thames Ditton?" "Darrell, I tell you. ” He made a step toward her.
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