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The Gem Collector by P. G. (Pelham Grenville) Wodehouse
page 75 of 152 (49%)
The conversation turned to other topics. Jimmy was glad of it. He
wanted to think this thing over.

From where he sat, he had an excellent view of the rope of pearls
which was tugging him back to his old ways. And when he looked at them
he could not see Molly. The thing was symbolical. It must be one or
the other. He was at the crossroads. The affair was becoming a civil
war. He felt like a rudderless boat between two currents. Eight years
of gem collecting do not leave a man without a deep-rooted passion for
the sport. As for that steel box, that was all nonsense. It was
probably quite a good steel box, and the lock might very well be
something out of the ordinary; but it could not be a harder job than
some of those he had tackled.

The pearls shone in the lamplight. They seemed to be winking at him.




CHAPTER X.


In a cozy corner of the electric flame department of the infernal
regions there stands a little silver gridiron. It is the private
property of his Satanic majesty, and is reserved exclusively for the
man who invented amateur theatricals. It is hard to see why the
amateur actor has been allowed to work his will unchecked for so long.
These performances of his are diametrically opposed to the true sport
of civilization, which insists that the good of the many should be
considered as being of more importance than that of the few.
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