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’ Miss Froxfield regarded him in some interest. ” They loitered under trees, they sat on mossy banks they gossiped on friendly benches, they came back to lunch at the “Star and Garter,” and talked their afternoon away in the garden that looks out upon the crescent of the river. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone.
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