was only for the Masterthe idea of a little talkthat he had sat up and that, not finding him, he had been on the point of going to bed.
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Well, you know, I don't smokemy wife doesn't let me, said St. George, looking for a place to sit down. It's very good for mevery good for me. Let us take that sofa.
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Do you mean smoking is good for you?
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No, no, her not letting me. It's a great thing to have a wife who proves to one all the things one can do without. One might never find them out for oneself. She doesn't allow me to touch a cigarette.
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They took possession of the sofa, which was at a distance from the group of smokers, and St. George went on: Have you got one yourself?
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No; and yet I would give up my cigarette for one.
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You would give up a good deal more than that, said St. George. However, you would get a great deal in return. There is a great deal to be said for wives, he added, folding his arms and crossing his outstretched legs. He declined tobacco altogether and sat there without returning fire. Paul Overt stopped smoking, touched by his courtesy; and after all they were out of the fumes, their sofa was in a far-away corner. It would have been a mistake, St. George went on, a great mistake for them to have separated without a little chat; for I know all about you, he said, I know you're very remarkable. You've written a very distinguished book.
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And how do you know it? Overt asked.
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Why, my dear fellow, it's in the air, it's in the papers, it's everywhere, St. George replied, with the immediate familiarity of a confrère a tone that seemed to his companion the very rustle of the laurel. You're on all men's lips and, what's better, you're on all women's. And I've just been reading your book.
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Just? You hadn't read it this afternoon, said Overt.
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You know how I know it, the young man answered, laughing.
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I suppose Miss Fancourt told you.
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