There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. “The fellow is not such a blackguard, after all. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. The stranger concluded he could not be far from his destination, and a turn in the road showed him the house.
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