Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR. “You are coming in, aren’t you, Sydney?” “If I may,” he answered. Mere hangers on. ‘Stay, Saling!’ The butler halted, looking round enquiringly.
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