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Sir Rowland waved his hand, and the attendant withdrew. But the clearly definite thing was the ultimate escape. She chuckled. “This is all rot!” he declared angrily. The Wastrel did not relish this. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. She was, she guessed, close to the library. . I went at last when I had barely a shilling in my purse to a dramatic agent.
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