‘I lived with the Valades for some years. It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. I’ll give you, say, thirty-five guineas a week clear of expenses, and half of anything you earn above the two turns a night. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. She did not know herself. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. It was the grand nursery of vice. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground.
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