"The only disguise I ever put on is a dress-suit, and I look as natural as a pig at a Mahomedan dinner. "My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared. And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. We felt like thieves. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated.
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