Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. ‘No. "Ah! Quilt Arnold, my man, is it you? By the powers! I'm glad to see you. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. Her soft brown eyes, inherited from Larry, warmed an already pretty face. He was—a millionaire. That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings. And now take away those cards, and never let me see them again.
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