He has no imagination, no real generosity. . He has often told me that if he could play sober, he would go to America and reap a fortune. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. . Faugh!” She took up the last morsel of roll, and held it delicately between her long slim fingers. With people of that sort all sorts of things may happen.
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