‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city. He hated himself a little for it. It was no marriage at all. He's a hundred miles sou'-east of me. I shall charge you five per cent. And yet, the doctor recalled an expression of the girl's: that it was not a dissipated face, only troubled. And this damning evidence―’ with a brusque gesture at the portrait ‘―must also be destroyed. But they found him on the veranda when they returned from McClintock's that evening. “I am a fool,” he said. It will be his interest to do so.
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