"Very well, Mr. It's mighty lonesome down there for a man bred to cities. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. She said there was no other way to get them to stop their constant screaming. Loans will just ruin my life because I need so many of them.
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