This niggardliness compelled him to cross and recross streets. There are way-stations—even terminals. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten that much in my entire life, Lucy, and that’s saying something. The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall. He neither attempted to prevent his nephew's departure, nor to follow him. All these things spoke of peace;—but there are seasons when the pleasantest external influences have a depressing effect on the mind, by painfully recalling past happiness.
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