Rank ingratitude, I call it. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. 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. The robbers proceeded singly, and kept on the grass skirting the road, so that no noise was made by their horses' feet.
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