“Not twice. I am nervous. I intend to marry. I want to buy a little seaside practice that is for sale.”
Mr. Marrapit repeated the faint little bark. He was lying back, eyes half closed, face working upon some inward stress.
“Those are my plans,” George summarised: “to marry and buy this practice.”
A considerable pause followed. The workings of Mr. Marrapit's face ceased; he opened his eyes, sat up. “When?” he asked.
“At once.”
“This practice—”
“I have it in my eye.”
“Immaterial. Have you it in your pocket?”
“You mean the price?”
“I mean the money wherewith to finance these appalling schemes.”