Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. “What do you think you are doing?” He asked. The ledge, along which he crawled, was about a foot wide. Twenty guineas, mind. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. Maggot, dealing him a buffet that sent him reeling several yards backwards.
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