The plank hung over his head. Ah! there he stands!" he exclaimed as his eye fell for the first time upon Sir Rowland. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion. ” True summer descended like a sticky fever upon August’s arrival, bringing with it miasmas of humidity that seemed to hang from the trees like mucus. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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