a passer of counterfeit banknotes
The waiters were all beautiful Portuguese Nancy boys dressed in tight French sailor suits—striped shirts, tight-assed bell bottoms, a blue cap with a red pompadour—and reeking of delectably cheap perfume.
Is not the very fact that they continue to do business with Russia a better evidence of Russia’s keeping her contracts than the testimony of escapées and convicts and criminals and heated agitators?
An American traveler, let us say, lands at Calais with a pocket full of American money; his purse may fairly bulge. But he cannot buy so much as a newspaper or a breakfast roll with it. As far as his ability to purchase the very necessities of life is concerned, he might as well be penniless. His American money is worthless to him on that other shore until he has exchanged it for the coin of the realm.
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