144 I think he heard about the backpack and the spitballs finally. She had been quite convinced that an engagement with him and at last a marriage had exactly that quality of compromise which distinguishes the ways of the wise. Only I wish—I wish to-day I was a thousand times, ten thousand times more beautiful. She felt draggled and insulted beyond redemption. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. The command was sullenly obeyed, for the fellow did not appear to relish the rating.
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