A thousand dollars is a lot of money for an author to earn. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. Her heart in her mouth, she heard his foot scrape on the floorboard and knew from his expression that Gosse had heard it too. She would rend him limb from limb like a fiend if only she could move. I can no longer bear to address you by that formal madame. But he. “Well?” he asked her tersely. She wanted to know. "Your business, Sir?" returned the other, stiffly. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. She said you HAD some money. I offered myself as a clerk, as a milliner, as a shop girl. He bowed over her hand, venturing to drop a kiss on it’s leathery surface.
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