Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. "Where did you learn the song I heard just now?" he demanded, in an authoritative tone. " "Thames Ditton—is that your name?" "No," replied the boy, impatiently; "Darrell—Thames Darrell. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. Brendon. Wood,—"he'll never mend.
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