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Reade, Charles, 1814-1884

"Hard Cash"

Why,
why couldn't he leave us what is more wanted here than even his money?
His integrity: the pearl of price, that my father, whom I used to sneer
at, carried to his grave; and died simple, but wise; honest, but
rich--rich in money, in credit, in honour, and eternal hopes. Oh,
Skinner! Skinner! I wish I had never been born."
Skinner was surprised: he was not aware that intelligent men who sin are
subject to fits of remorse. Nay, more, he was frightened; for the emotion
of this iron man, so hard to move, was overpowering when it came: it did
not soften, it convulsed him.
"Don't talk so, sir," said the little clerk. "Keep up your heart! Have a
drop of something."
"You are right," said Mr. Hardie gloomily; "it is idle to talk: we are
all the slaves of circumstances."
With this, he unlocked a safe that stood against the wall, chucked the L.
14,000 in, and shammed the iron door sharply; and, as it closed upon the
Cash with a clang, the parlour door burst open as if by concert, and
David Dodd stood on the threshold, looking terrible. His ruddy colour was
all gone, and he seemed black and white with anger and anxiety; and out
of this blanched yet lowering face his eyes glowed like coals, and roved
keenly to and fro between the banker and the clerk.


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