He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. "But I can guess what it's for. “Good, I’m so glad, Lucy. Don’t leave me. He continued to do this for the rest of the evening intermittently, in and out, among other topics. Yet an indiscriminating, wrong-headed world gave such fellows all sorts of distinctions.
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