Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. He bowed over her hand, venturing to drop a kiss on it’s leathery surface. He tried again. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. Both started. But I’d have done it without, though it weren’t my place. "Five guineas. " "And I'm glad your worship's recognition doesn't come too late," observed the Master.
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