"Bless your soul! d'ye think I'm to be gammoned by such nonsense. Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. To write under a pseudonym!—to be forced to disown his children! He could not write under his own name, enjoy the fruits of fame should these tales prove successful. It was the gallows. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. Remarking that they struck off at a turning on the left, he took the same road, and soon found himself on Paddington-Green. He sounds to me like a soldier of fortune. After a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily forgotten.
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