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. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. Celestial Uncles! Spurlock chuckled, and a bit of chestnut, going down the wrong way, set him to coughing violently. Then he stepped briskly to his feet and bent over the wounded man. The popcorn dwindled to a half a bucket, his heart settled into its normal routine. Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times. "I can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. ‘I understand you have not been in England very long,’ he said in English, noting that Madame raised her fan and lowered her gaze demurely.
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