His favorite newspaper was the Times, which he began at breakfast in the morning often with manifest irritation, and carried off to finish in the train, leaving no other paper at home. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. I heard rumours of it in Paris, and the place since then has been closed. ‘I do not understand you. I came here peaceably, and I only ask for a few words with you. I'll talk to her in the morning, but she won't understand what I'm driving at. Not afraid of me, either. To-morrow I shall come and talk to you again—of other things. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. ” After a pause, she added, “Do you mind fetching back my recalcitrant cavalier. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. ‘But so also it is downstairs. The money will last longer, and—it won’t bother you. She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire.
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