This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. He thought, too, of the fretful invalid who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and made his position in the world. “I want to have no distractions. Flowers, theatre boxes, carriages, the “open sesame” to the whole world of pleasure. ‘Come inside at once, child. Jack's heart was too full to allow him to derive any pleasure from this scene; so he strolled on without raising his eyes till he arrived at Kensal Green. It wasn’t. A lucky escape. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ said Gerald in a low tone.
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