It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone. The two friends contrasted strikingly with each other. He sent me home. He was looking pale and ill. "What's that?" asked Wild. Everything. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains.
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