The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. “Thanks, Mister McCloskey. ‘Very wise,’ commented Gerald. . “You were never born,” he declared, “to follow the well worn roads. “I wonder if you give me a thought. I pity her from the bottom of my heart. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. But when he looked again, there she was! "I don't understand," he said, finally.
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