" "A secret!" exclaimed Trenchard. He was—a millionaire. Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. And the less “anything” happened the better. We've made a pretty penny by him—sixty guineas this blessed day. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again. "Going to befuddle himself between now and dinner," was the comment of Prudence. She flew up the covered stairs and knocked upon his door.
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