" "On my soul, Thames, you wrong me!" replied Jack, passionately. Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off. Women to me are something so serene, so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome and quarrelsome. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. She had never let off a pistol in her life. Instead, they lived a Bohemian existence, moving from patron to patron, city to city. He was nearly wincing. Earles recovered his spirits. That’s Italians for you. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end.
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