“For your own sake, let me beg of you not to stay for a moment. If the Wastrel had not turned the instant he did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turned directly into its path. I’m starving. “I am a fool,” he said. There was a coffee equipage on the table, and some sandwiches, and the fire had been recently made up. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had.
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