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. I followed you home on the train. “Mid-thirties. You wanted to play a lone hand. I heard rumours of it in Paris, and the place since then has been closed. So I had to buy out his interest, and it pinched me dreadfully to do it.
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