As he passed along the main thoroughfare, he heard his own name pronounced, and found that it was a hawker, crying a penny history of his escapes. 192 Her skirt had ridden almost to her hips. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. ‘Come, mademoiselle, it is of no use to conceal anything from me, you know. But he afterwards acted upon the suggestion.
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