’ ‘Also madame his wife—’ Charvill’s gorge rose. "Though you lorded it over that fond fool, Mrs. ” Sir John clutched at the table with both hands. But he held the smile until she turned away from the curtain. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. " The Wastrel laughed.
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