Only you seem to me since the time when I knew you in Paris to have changed—to have changed in some subtle manner which I find at times utterly bewildering. That’s all about it. Take care of the old clothesman, and leave the rest to me. Mrs. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. And if sometimes I grow heady—and it's in the blood— remind me of this day when you took me out of hell—a thief.
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