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Of him they took but little notice. He might have been a log of wood lying there at Miss
Barrett’s feet for all the attention Mr. Browning paid him. Sometimes he scrubbed his
head in a brisk, spasmodic way, energetically, without sentiment, as he passed him.
Whatever that scrub might mean, Flush felt nothing but an intense dislike for Mr.
Browning. The very sight of him set his teeth on edge. Oh! to let them meet sharply,
completely in the stuff of his trousers! And yet he dared not.