Somebody ought to talk to him, warn him. “There’s the classes,” said Constance, the well-informed. While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles. There's something queer about that young man; but we'll never be able to find out what it is. Here her strength completely failed her, and she was compelled to seek some repose. The first circumstance that struck her on her arrival seemed ominous. The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. "Every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper. “Think of what people will say!” That became a refrain.
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