The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. Stanley poured wine. ‘Well! I hadn’t no notion as he’d got hisself married again. ‘And now,’ he said, drawing Madame to the seat, and contriving to sit close enough that his anatomy touched hers at several points, ‘let us talk about you, madame. Here's his health likewise. Like carpenter, like chips. ‘Seems to me like you know just about as much as me. “So I see that you have become content with your hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your Martin Chen!” “Who?” “Your limp-wristed lover!” “Um. And were you to load me with thrice the weight of iron you have ordered you should not prevent my escaping a third time.
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