You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. I've told you about him; and you wrote a shrewd yarn on the subject. ‘Brung the lantern, I did, and opened the door again in case you was ready. He was really very bright and clever, with a sort of conversational boldness that was just within the limits of permissible daring. I would have twice the problems that I have currently.
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