They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. " "What has he done?" "What did he have to drink over here last night?" "Not even water. Denis, did you say? I hope that no one of our friends has met with an accident. "Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. Stanley considered. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. " "Iss, Massa Ireton," replied the black.
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