"So I think," replied Kneebone, again applying to the snuff-box, and by that means escaping the angry glance levelled at him by his companion. There were three exit doors. Probably she mistook you; probably she thought you cared. You act your part capitally, but it won't do. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. There was a second co-respondent. ” The lady stood away from the door. But no more of that.
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