“You will pardon me, sir,” he said in a subdued tone, “but I think that you have forgotten to look at your engagement book. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. "I beg pardon," he said. Sc. And, yet, I don't know. He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. Everywhere else—the law, medicine, the Stock Exchange—prejudice bars us.
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