The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I want to hear it from your sister. Before I met you I never met any one whom I felt I could love, but you have discovered depths in my own nature I had scarcely suspected. There was no marriage, and I hated, oh, how I hated the man. Your maid would not be of the least protection. Capes sat down in the armchair beside her. Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt.
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