Arrived there, the porter thundered at the massive door of the Lodge, which was instantly opened—Shotbolt's note having been received just before. 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. Kneebone and his friends would be glad of a little refreshment. Were the parents agreeable? Were they of age? Had the license been procured? But here, in a far country, only the velvet manacles of wedlock were necessary. He thanked God for this talent of his. I want to be with you. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges.
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