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There is a game called poker, at which a man without much control over his features may exceed
the limits of the handsomest allowance. His lordship's face during a game of poker was like the
surface of some quiet pond, ruffled by every breeze. The blank despair of his expression when he
held bad cards made bluffing expensive. The honest joy that bubbled over in his eyes when his hand
was good acted as an efficient danger-signal to his grateful opponents. Two weeks of poker had led
to his writing to his uncle a distressed but confident request for more funds; and the avuncular foot
had come down with a joyous bang. Taking his stand on the evils of gambling, Sir Thomas had
changed the conditions of the money-market for his nephew with a thoroughness that effectually
prevented the possibility of his being again led astray by the fascinations of poker. The allowance
vanished absolutely, and in its place there came into being an arrangement. By this his lordship
was to have whatever money he wished for, but he must ask for it, and state why it was needed.
If the request were reasonable, the cash would be forthcoming; if preposterous, it would not.
The flaw in the scheme, from his lordship's point of view, was the difference of opinion
which can exist in the minds of two men as to what the words reasonable and preposterous
may be taken to mean.

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He started as might a man who, stroking a cat, receives a sudden but trifling scratch.

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