“YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. His name was Sebastianus. Except for the dull eyes and the extreme pallor of his face, there was nothing else to indicate that he was deep in liquor. ‘Give me that!’ He took his finger away from her neck and made a grab at the handkerchief. His treatment of his wife is most unsatisfactory.
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