"I knew his poor mother, and for her sake I'll not see this done," cried John Dump. Men had tried that before, but never until now had they been quick enough. Five minutes ago, his butler had entered the green saloon, an austere apartment, with dark forest-green wallpaper flocked with a swirling design, and heavy mahogany furniture. Despite her busy work schedule, Sheila had always been a social person, a talker, a joiner of neighborhood groups, a town council member, a PTA worker, and a thrower of neighborhood coffee klatches. Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. That, Sir, is what I call being a Good Samaritan. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are. I shan't let you off a farthing.
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