” “On the contrary,” Anna whispered quietly, “we met in a small boarding-house where I was stopping. “You are talking like a boy. Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. Mrs. Girls erupted in waves of whispering as soon as she passed them by.
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