He entered the room with his usual deliberation, and looked covertly about him. "You're wanted. The street was deserted, no pedestrian school-goers walked immediately in front or behind them. But you’ve got to lend me forty pounds. From McClintock's came an infernal tinkletinkle, tump-tump! There was no composing with such a sound hammering upon the ear. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about you.
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