“Lord!” she said. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life. “You must come home to him at once,” said Miss Stanley. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall. You’d better not have all the money on you; you had better open a small account in the postoffice and draw it out a fiver at a time. I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois. You seemed complete—without that.
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