But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed. ‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. "This Enschede—the missioner. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. And, without another word, he seized the table with both hands, and upset it; scattering plates, dishes, bottles, jugs, and glasses far and wide. Yet the fact remains that you do not understand me at all.
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