His favorite newspaper was the Times, which he began at breakfast in the morning often with manifest irritation, and carried off to finish in the train, leaving no other paper at home. There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. “What do we want? What is the goal?” asked Ann Veronica. Then she cursed herself for his eyes went to the letter and came back to her face. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course.
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