V. He has no imagination, no real generosity. Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. Even the love of a mother does not sway him. " "Don't be angry with me, Sir," cried the widow, sobbing bitterly, "pray don't. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. She ought to be softened and tender and confidential at this phase of her life.
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