What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. And for my part, if I were inclined to exercise my benevolence at all, it should be in favour of some more deserving object than that whining, hypocritical Magdalene. He walked through a wide open archway, curtained with deep-blue curtains, into the apartment that served as a reception-room. “That’s not.
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