Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. “Why not? They tell me that London is impossible till after ten, and I want my first impressions to be favourable. Think—think of that engagement!” Their talk had come to eloquent silences that contradicted all he had to say. At last, she breathed. Steps to aid the descent, which was too steep to be safe without them, led to, a door on the opposite side.
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