"Nor any one else, I suspect," answered Ireton, winking significantly. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. His commissions this day would not fill his metal pipe with one wad of tobacco. Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce. "Of course," rejoined the bystander, who had just spoken, and who was of a cynical turn,—"the greater the rascal, the better they like him. There is no future for me here.
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