The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. And Gerald— Melusine swallowed on an unaccountable lump in her throat. He heard the struggle on the landing, the fall of the heavy body, the groan,—and excited almost to frenzy by his fears, he succeeded in forcing open the door. I am having them to my own soirée on Monday. CHAPTER XXI. “Through there,” he said, and pointed with the pamphlet he was carrying.
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