That is what my mother used to call me. Then there came briskly along the path towards her, an Englishman. “We have no airs and graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account.
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