So I had to buy out his interest, and it pinched me dreadfully to do it. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. ” “I couldn’t do that,” said Ann Veronica, sharply. It wasn't worth while to invest imaginatively a man with evil projects simply because he was physically ugly.
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