Andrea Cavalcanti, with curled hair, mustaches in perfect order, and white gloves which fitted admirably, had entered the courtyard of the banker's ho...se in La Chaussee d'Antin. He had not been more than ten minutes in the drawing-room before he drew Danglars aside into the recess of a bow-window, and, after an ingenious preamble, related to him all his anxieties and cares since his noble father's departure. He acknowledged the extreme kindness which had been shown him by the banker's family,. "Yeah? Like what?" "First of all," Lars said, "fifty thousand dollars." "Jesus Christ!" I said. "That's insane! For that money you could probably hire a professional hit man, for Christ sake. Why would you--" Lars shrugged. "It's not my money," he said. "You want another reason?" "Yeah." "Here." Lars passed me over a small photograph. "That's the girl. Her name is Sharon." "Wow!" I said. And I meant it. The picture showed a very pretty girl with long. More

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