His friendship seemed a thing worth having. ’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it. “He does not come here,” she exclaimed, quickly. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. Because of the thought of love and companionship? No. Here you are, young, sound, with a heart that will recover in no time, provided you keep liquor out of it.
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