His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. “Why?” he asked, suavely. " "You'll take the consequences, then?" "Willingly. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Things hung for a moment in an awkward silence. ” “You’ll never pay me. Everywhere else—the law, medicine, the Stock Exchange—prejudice bars us.
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