CHAPTER XXIII. In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. She turned back into the hall. We'll get together this afternoon; and you can pretend that I am your father. Ousted from his old retreat, the Cross Shovels, Baptist Kettleby opened another tavern, conducted upon the same plan as the former, which he denominated the Seven Cities of Refuge. We all get deceived sometimes. “I have given her two days’ holiday,” Anna answered.
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