The presence on the lawn--I felt sick as I made it out-- was poor little Miles himself. The guards went to and fro opening, closing, locking, unlocking the doors. They had come home a little late and still dinner was not ready: but it would be ready in a jiffy his mother had said. Then Nasty Roche had said: --What kind of a name is that? And when Stephen had not been able to answer Nasty Roche had asked: --What is your father? Stephen had answered: --A gentleman.
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