He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. “Oh Christ! How old were you?” “Just—well, I was young. I feel almost inclined to regret the fact. For heaven’s sake, give him some Madeira or something, Gerald! Anything to calm him down. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who was enjoying himself.
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