"Are you hurt, Thames?" asked Jack, anxiously. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. So far, however, was this submission from producing the desired effect, that it seemed only to lend additional fuel to her displeasure. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. For now, I fear there is something worse, something more present.
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