All that you have to do is to mind your business and mine.

Lilienthal will let you know when I am coming back, and advise you." The two lovers had met, far away at Manhattan Beach, after Madame Raffoni had discreetly piloted Clayton over to a sandy hollow where a half-burned spar gave a convenient resting-place, before Fritz Braun and Lilienthal had finished an acrimonious settlement of some private money matters.
"I'm not a wolf," growled Braun.

"You square up as if you were never going to see me again.

You need me more than I need you." They were in the safe seclusion of the "Private Room" of the Newport Art Gallery, judiciously vacated for the occasion, when a strange fear took possession of the sly pleasure pander, Mr.Adolph Lilienthal.
"See here, Braun," he huskily said, a mean suspicion seizing upon him, "You're not cutting stick for good! You're not going to 'blow on me' and 'give me away!' By God! I believe it," he said in fright, as he noted Braun's pale face.
"It's two months since I've seen Irma Gluyas.

Damn you! You've sent her over to the other side, and got all your papers safe! You've turned revenue spy! I see your game!" Before the words were out of his mouth, Braun had dragged the venal scoundrel down in a strangler's grip.