One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. Return, I implore of you, to your master,—to Mr. Even Blueskin looked on with anxiety. " "It was her own fault," observed Blueskin, moodily. Let me have a word with him, and you may take all the money. Not daring, however, to listen to it, he ran on.
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