“Dear me!” he said. But your role would have been to go about saying, ‘I beg your pardon’ in a reproving tone to things you understood quite well in your heart and saw no harm in. 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. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. We never started out in any high-browed manner to scandalize and Shelleyfy. “All right?” he asked.
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