Stanley, having pretended to linger to smoke, fled suddenly up-stairs to petrography, and when Veronica tapped he answered through the locked door, “Go away, Vee! I’m busy,” and made a lapidary’s wheel buzz loudly. He seemed to have shrunken in his seat. Hope reared. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall. ‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy.
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