Lucy clutched the pencil in defeat. 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. You take them. “You will come back, won’t you?” He nodded cheerfully. Now I know that you don’t live as close to the Beck house as you once pretended.
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