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His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. And as he walked by her side they began a wrangle that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to banish a disagreeable preoccupation. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. "A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. She did not question or analyze the craving; she took the plunge joyously. "Give me your thorough-paced villain. So strongly was he impressed with this idea, that grasping the iron bar with both hands, he dashed it furiously against the door, making the passage echo with the blows. She had asked to borrow his pencil out of dire necessity. " So saying, he closed the door.
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