They did not spend most days together. “Martin Chen!” Michelle shouted his name in an outburst, like an invocation. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. “You are developing far too retentive a memory for praises,” said Ann Veronica. ‘The whole town is talking. He had no wish to go foraging in Spurlock's trunk.
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