I'd have got something nice. Will you marry me?” Anna looked at him in blank amazement. If I’d known, there would have been a different story. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. “And yet,” he said, “you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all. The young man did not know what he was doing or where he was. “Where to?” he asked, as the hansom drove up. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad.
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