“I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” “He—he worships the ground you tread on. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. Consternation gripped him. . All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. She was crushed with a sense of her own terrible impotency. Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann Veronica’s address.
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