He daren't quarrel with me: and if he does, let him look to himself. His favorite newspaper was the Times, which he began at breakfast in the morning often with manifest irritation, and carried off to finish in the train, leaving no other paper at home. I would not have him know—now—for the world. But if he's in bed, how the devil is he going with me, supposing I decide to hire him? The mudhook comes up to-morrow night. "We're forgetting," he said.
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