You’d better not have all the money on you; you had better open a small account in the postoffice and draw it out a fiver at a time. She rose to the fire to stoke it. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. ‘You have rifled his papers. “I think,” he said, “that I am right. .
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