" "You'd better hold your peace, my lad," observed Jonathan, in a menacing tone. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. “Hey you,” he said affectionately. As though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness. But it was not so ordered. Every other wall comprised bookcases, except where the doors appeared.
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