Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. Nevertheless, she could not prevent a rising excitement as the dawn of the new life drew near to her—a thrilling of the nerves, a secret and delicious exaltation above the common circumstances of existence. She was writhing to get her hands loose and found herself gasping with passionate violence, “It’s damnable!—damnable!” to the manifest disgust of the fatherly policeman on her right. She longed to enjoy human food as he did. Lives by his wits and gambling. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said. "These people are all in league with him," cried the latter. Why may I not be your friend? Somehow or other I feel that you have been driven into a false position. ” Another differed. “Let me know the truth. Places, I found, were daily given away, And yet no friendly gazette mentioned Gay.
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