But your role would have been to go about saying, ‘I beg your pardon’ in a reproving tone to things you understood quite well in your heart and saw no harm in. She hated the manor. Still, he was puzzled because McClintock had not spoken. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. This circumstance produced no further alteration in his demeanour except that he endeavoured to abstract himself from the surrounding scene, and bend his attention to the prayers which the ordinary was reciting. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. Tom swore he hadn't set eyes on him since the trial.
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