Wasn’t it—a little bit of a scene?” “Oh! let me see. “So I see that you have become content with your hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your Martin Chen!” “Who?” “Your limp-wristed lover!” “Um. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. But did Gerald trouble himself about her? No. As he crossed this chamber, his foot struck against something on the floor, which nearly threw him down, and stooping to examine the object, he found it was a key. “Annabel;” he moaned. My mother shall never degrade herself by a connection with you.
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