Pemberton
had spent his aversion to special cases before arriving at knowledge.
When at last he did arrive his quandary was great. Against every
interest he had attached himself. They would have to meet things
together. Before they went home that evening at Nice the boy had said,
clinging to his arm:
"Well, at any rate you'll hang on to the last."
"To the last?"
"Till you're fairly beaten."
"_You_ ought to be fairly beaten!" cried the young man, drawing him
closer.
CHAPTER IV
A year after he had come to live with them Mr. and Mrs. Moreen suddenly
gave up the villa at Nice. Pemberton had got used to suddenness, having
seen it practised on a considerable scale during two jerky little
tours--one in Switzerland the first summer, and the other late in the
winter, when they all ran down to Florence and then, at the end of ten
days, liking it much less than they had intended, straggled back in
mysterious depression. They had returned to Nice "for ever," as they
said; but this didn't prevent their squeezing, one rainy muggy May night,
into a second-class railway-carriage--you could never tell by which class
they would travel--where Pemberton helped them to stow away a wonderful
collection of bundles and bags.
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