There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. She twisted her fingers tightly. . ” Annabel shrugged her shoulders. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones.
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