All day he had thought of nothing but their leave-taking on the steps of the tram at Harold's Cross, the stream of moody emotions it had made to course through him and the poem he had written about it. Then he said: --Well, I can't help thinking of our friend Christopher manufacturing. We must not now, therefore, keep up a fire in the rear of the agents whom we have authorized to do our work on the Isthmus. There was something new, on the spot, between us, and he was perfectly aware that I recognized it, though, to enable me to do so, he had no need to look a whit less candid and charming than usual.
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