The Master of the Mint IV. To disillusion her, forthwith. You see, I’m separated from my wife. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. “She is living there now,” she remarked. No matter how swiftly he pursued this riddle, he could not bring it to a halt.
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