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Kingsley, Henry, 1830-1876

"Recollections of Geoffrey Hamlyn"

He's altered his will, you may depend on it."
"Do you really think so?"
"I should think it more probable than not. You see that old matter with
the Bank is known all over the country, although they don't seem
inclined to push it against you, for some reason. Yet it's hardly
likely that the Vicar would let his money go to a man who couldn't be
seen for fear of a rope."
"You're a raven, old woman," he said. "What am I to do?"
"Give up play, to begin with."
"Well?"
"Start some business with what's left."
"Ha, ha! Well, I'll think of it. You must want some money, old girl!
Here's a fipunnote."
"I don't want money, my boy; I'm all right," she said.
"Oh, nonsense; take it."
"I won't," she answered. "Give me a kiss, George."
He kissed her forehead, and bent down his head reflecting. When he
looked up she was gone.
He ran out of the booth and looked right and left, but saw her nowhere.
Then he went sulkily back to his wife. He hardly noticed her, but said
it was time to go home. All the way back, and after they had reached
their lodgings, he kept the same moody silence, and she, frightened at
some unheard-of calamity, forbore to question him.


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