The House of Mammon by Fred M. White

The stars seemed to stagger in the sky as Sairson returned home. He shuffled in his walk like a man weary of the struggle and ready to fall by the wayside. For the first time in his life he was experiencing what nerves meant. Hitherto he had had a fine contempt for them; they were all very well for a parcel of women who had nothing to do and nothing to think about but themselves and their imaginary ailments. A fine constitution, a perfect digestion, and the utter absence of conscience had been his assets in the battle of life. He had "got on" wonderfully, had amassed money, and most men he met were afraid of him.

Now everything seemed to be different. All at once everything had gone wrong. It was as if he were walking beneath a veritable avenue of Damocles' swords. Whence had his enemies arisen? Whence came their astonishing knowledge of his past? Some of these people he had forgotten years ago; he had come to regard them as dead and buried.