The word "criticism" had no concrete meaning to her then; no more than "compromise. This structure at once satisfied him as to where he stood. "The Dawn Pearl!" he said, making to recline again. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. She appeared not to have realised the implications of her outburst, but clung a little to Gerald’s hands which had taken hers in a comforting clasp.
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