The man looked hard at him. Every one has to make a deal with the world. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. But that title he would not endure. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. Here were the passionate lovers! What their past had been he neither cared nor craved to know. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone.
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