“I was in Paris four years ago,” Mr. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. He knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something. The stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise his impertinence. It does sound a little horrid to talk so much about oneself and to have views. " "I can't endure the odious baggage. “Will you tell Sydney that I will see him in the morning,” he said.
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