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The Touchstone by Edith Wharton
page 90 of 112 (80%)

"Simple enough--your offering me money in return for a friendly
service? I don't know what your other friends expect!"

"Some of my friends wouldn't have undertaken the job. Those who
would have done so would probably have expected to be paid."

He lifted his eyes to Flamel and the two men looked at each other.
Flamel had turned white and his lips stirred, but he held his
temperate note. "If you mean to imply that the job was not a nice
one, you lay yourself open to the retort that you proposed it.
But for my part I've never seen, I never shall see, any reason for
not publishing the letters."

"That's just it!"

"What--?"

"The certainty of your not seeing was what made me go to you.
When a man's got stolen goods to pawn he doesn't take them to the
police-station."

"Stolen?" Flamel echoed. "The letters were stolen?"

Glennard burst into a coarse laugh. "How much longer to you
expect me to keep up that pretence about the letters? You knew
well enough they were written to me."

Flamel looked at him in silence. "Were they?" he said at length.
"I didn't know it."
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