“Will you help me?” he asked. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. She was the first to recover herself. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. "But, perhaps, he has not got beyond the room above.
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