His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. Women to me are something so serene, so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome and quarrelsome. You really ought not to stay here and talk to us. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. I change them in the morning at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down.
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