Some of your sex, I mean. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. “After all,” he said, “I am not sure that you are not a very material person. ‘And you come to me, thinking yourself half French, and expect me to take you in. ‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered. " "Have it, and welcome," rejoined Figg. ‘Like a vision she were. “It was unpleasant while it lasted, but it is over —and my toasted scones are delicious. But his treasured dream lay shattered at his feet. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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