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" "Do you call ten guineas easy terms?" cried Wood, with a look of dismay. She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. It was so easy to forget the imminent threats of being discovered during times of peace.
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