“Yes. But, I was still an architect.”
“I’ve heard that,” came a voice from outside.
“Yes, I’m really rich at least that’s what I think. But I have no interest in furniture making,” said Harry.
And it was true. Harry was very wealthy, but he was the one who was selling them.
“You have something to say?” a woman said to him, looking at him with disdain.
He shook his head.
“Then I say ‘not a chance – that’s not possible.’
The women looked at their feet.
“Is that not possible?”
“That would be very difficult, but not impossible is what it is, isn’t it?”
“Surely not,” Harry said firmly, with some irritation at this remark. He looked down and shook his head.
“Then you have heard of my work? Do you know what kind of work I do?” he asked the woman.
“Yes, of course you do, but I think I know someone who is trying to sell you something,” she said.
“What kind of work?”
“A house – and then,” she gestured to the women by the door, “they’ll have to take a mortgage on it.”
She gave Harry a hard look.
“It’s for sale right now.”
“The house for sale. I just can’t wait,” she said.
“It doesn’t look cheap,” said Harry.
“Look at the price you’re paying, it’s an exorbitant amount. Is it something you can afford, or is it a loan?
Harry considered this. He thought they would try to get the house off his hands by selling it to some rich noble or other, maybe a rich woman. No, he thought it was a loan.
“Don’t you mean you owe it to them, then?” Harry said, somewhat exasperated. The woman didn’t look at him, but seemed to be thinking about something.
“Do you think I’m a rich person?” The woman looked at him. “What about you?”
“That’s what I say.” The girl, whom Harry had been talking to earlier, looked down at the floor.
“I’m not sure I want to be rich,” he said stiffly.
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