The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. ‘You wish a reason for jealousy? Eh bien, you may have it. I do not care in the least. Don’t you care for Nigel at all?” Anna was silent for a moment or two. For a moment her heart seemed to stop beating. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. "Continue the proceedings. I made Hainault’s acquaintance, stood him drinks, lent him money.
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