Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you. "Nobody has so much cause for complaint as me," growled Austin. She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. Through one doorway she saw a grave Chinaman standing on a stage-like platform. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy.
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