His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. Aware of his father's inflexibility of purpose, he set his wits to work to defeat the design. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. I was rude and stupid. She yielded it without protest, as though unconsciously. He looked across at Annabel, and he groaned. Raising him in his arms, Jonathan passed the rope round his body, and in this way the poor boy was drawn up without difficulty. His favorite newspaper was the Times, which he began at breakfast in the morning often with manifest irritation, and carried off to finish in the train, leaving no other paper at home.
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