It's what one means by London."
"It's the continuity," said Richard sententiously. A vision of English
history, King following King, Prime Minister Prime Minister, and Law Law
had come over him while his wife spoke. He ran his mind along the line
of conservative policy, which went steadily from Lord Salisbury to
Alfred, and gradually enclosed, as though it were a lasso that opened
and caught things, enormous chunks of the habitable globe.
"It's taken a long time, but we've pretty nearly done it," he said; "it
remains to consolidate."
"And these people don't see it!" Clarissa exclaimed.
"It takes all sorts to make a world," said her husband. "There would
never be a government if there weren't an opposition."
"Dick, you're better than I am," said Clarissa. "You see round, where I
only see _there_." She pressed a point on the back of his hand.
"That's my business, as I tried to explain at dinner."
"What I like about you, Dick," she continued, "is that you're always the
same, and I'm a creature of moods."
"You're a pretty creature, anyhow," he said, gazing at her with deeper
eyes.
"You think so, do you? Then kiss me."
He kissed her passionately, so that her half-written letter slid to the
ground. Picking it up, he read it without asking leave.
"Where's your pen?" he said; and added in his little masculine hand:
R.
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