By the time she arrived at the Beck’s doorstep, the morning was risen. He was always doing his best to call her attention to the fact that he was a man of spirit and quality and experience, and she a young and beautiful woman, and that all sorts of constructions upon their relationship were possible, trusting her to go on from that to the idea that all sorts of relationships were possible. “Looooo-ceeeeee!!” He yelled, sounding like Desi Arnaz. I’m fine. But, alas! Ah Cum shrugged philosophically. She did not know Mr. Wood. 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. "Here's one of the thieves, Sir Rowland!" cried the attendant.
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