" "Who's lost?" demanded Ireton. His voice now had lost its ironies. He was even a little jealous of Sebastian. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. I rather think they have kicked him, from the tone of some of the letters. In the circles into which he had been born, the passing on of land was of vital importance.
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