He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check. A common rage flushed their faces. They had changed identities absolutely. For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent.
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