"A hundred pounds!" exclaimed Shotbolt. His grey eyes burned under his shaggy eyebrows. He reached a silver cigar and cigarette box from the sideboard and put it before his father-in-law, and for a time the preliminaries of smoking occupied them both. From where had he come, and why? An author! To her he would be no less interesting because he was unsuccessful. She turned them down and gently placed the violin back in its red fake fur lined chamber.
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