The Mohocks. He smiled inwardly. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. He had put himself before the threshold of damnation; for Ruth was now a vestal in the temple. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears.
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