His tie had demanded a struggle; he ought to have taken a clean one after his first failure. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. The blow was scarcely dealt, when, with a bound like that of a tiger, Blueskin sprang upon him. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. You must tell me what it all means.
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