He held down the light, and a moment afterwards beckoned, with a blanched cheek, to Rowland. “I will tell you as much as this,” she continued. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. Suddenly, she heard the crunch of new feet on the gravel. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. “You were there, were you?” He laughed a little impatiently. His lips parted in a rare smile. "I lost a very valuable one some time ago.
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