And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. Wood, reproachfully, as they returned to the parlour. Lost, stolen, or strayed, the Young Person!. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way.
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