His voice had broken. Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. “Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. Mr. "Curse me, if I don't think all the world means to cross the Thames this fine night," observed Ben. She struggled fiercely not to give way. ’ ‘Gosse,’ corrected Lucilla. Her efforts were vain. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved.
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