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. The man who came to our rooms, you know, that night was his friend. He's nice. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. There you are, the best client’s chair. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. Even your family. " And Blueskin withdrew. "Manuscripts! Why, this chap is a writer, or is trying to be.
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