Taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled one of those vagabond heads which Murillo delighted to paint, and for which Guzman d'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, or Estevanillo Gonzalez might have sat:—faces that almost make one in love with roguery, they seem so full of vivacity and enjoyment. He only stays here for you, hoping in vain. During the wet monsoon the west beach was always littered. She had lost it. “Yes,” she said, “that is what we ought to do. Then we can look out together for such employment—as would be more suitable for you. ‘Ah, yes? To what do I pretend?’ ‘That,’ Gerald said regretfully, ‘I have not yet been able to fathom. CHAPTER II.
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