” Thank Heaven! Mr. He lunched in the Legal Club in Chancery Lane, and met Ogilvy. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women. I suppose my creed is, ‘I believe rather indistinctly in God the Father Almighty, substratum of the evolutionary process, and, in a vein of vague sentimentality that doesn’t give a datum for anything at all, in Jesus Christ, His Son. However, it doesn't much signify. The carte de jour was before Monsieur. " So saying, he re-entered the house, closed the door, and, followed by the widow, proceeded to the fire-place, where a handful of chips, apparently just lighted, crackled within the rusty grate. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. Rummage, my boy, do. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest.
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