“There’s no one here except me. 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. He—wanted to marry me. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. Try and let him never regret it. I mentioned sixty, I believe, when I was in Paris, but there are expenses, and just now business is bad. She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk.
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