He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. “Are you going on again this winter with that scientific work of yours? It’s an instance of heredity, I suppose. ‘It did not seem to me that it was so. ” Lucy tried to ignore her awareness that Mike’s ears had perked up. Things you would laugh at. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. 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. The horror of those few minutes was still with her. There one is! The same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut off from its redeeming and guiding emotional side.
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