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Men of Affairs

by Pertwee Roland

(Excerpt from Chapter I): At a pawnshop in the Gray's Inn Road, Richard Frencham Altar disposed of the last of his worldly goods. Four suits from a tailor in Saville Row, two pairs of shoes in brown and patent by a craftsman of Jermyn Street, some odds and ends of hosiery, a set of dressing table brushes with black monograms on ivory and the gold cigarette case Doreen had given him on the day of their engagement. In consideration for which he departed with a sum of twenty-seven pounds sixteen shillings in his trousers pockets. At his rooms in Golden Square he settled his account with the landlady, a luxury that reduced his wealth by a matter of nineteen pounds. Of the eight pounds sixteen shillings remaining, five guineas were placed on one side for the tobacconist who had supplied him with Gold Flake and the margin transferred to another pocket for the purpose of one final engagement with the habit of high living. After that-well time would show. It was futile to speculate upon the future. He had the clothes he stood up in, the brain and tissue heaven had provided him with and a spirit unawed by adversity. Many men have started life with less. A neighbouring clock chimed the hour. Too early to dine-besides there were things to be done first. From a highly decorated vase that stood upon a particularly restless over-mantel, he drew a small packet of letters and untied the tape that circled them. They were written in a careless sprawling hand, with lots of ink and little thought. They were very full of 'darlings' and 'dearests' and 'how much do you love me's.' They were very, very rapturous-they were very, very silly. They had made him very happy when first he read them because silliness and sincerity are often partners, but now he knew better-now they made him laugh. Not a very cheerful laugh perhaps-a little cynical maybe but on the whole tolerant and forbearing. He put a match to the first and lit the others in succession one by one until a charred chain of memories stretched across the tiling of the grate. The last 'Doreen' straggled scarlet across a black and twisting page, whitened, greyed and disappeared. --This text refers to the Kindle Edition edition.

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...waseatable and which wearable, and Richard observed the operation with amixture of amusement and disgust. Having discovered her breakfast andselected a piece of rag to act as napkin, tablecloth, and subsequently aface towel, the old lady restored the remainder of her effects to the'valise' and fell to. Noticing Richard was awake she addressed him in asingularly soprano voice. "I'm up a bit early today, " she remarked and added "Lovely air, isn't it?"The unexpected aestheticism of the remark robbed him of speech. Ho hadlooked for mutterings or execrations but instead here was amiability andappreciation overriding adversity. A powerful desire possessed him toshake hands with his new acquaintance, but he did not risk it, beingunacquainted with the proper etiquette of the benches. Recovering hiscomposure he agreed about the pleasant quality of the air and threw in aword of praise for the sparrows. "Dear little things, " said the old lady over the grey crust to which shewas applying a...

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