I can never be grateful enough. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. If I were to marry you now I should feel a dependent being all my life—a sort of parasitical creature without blood or muscle.
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