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” “The truth,” she murmured, with her eyes fixed upon him. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. It was obviously pitched well, hitting her head at a good thirtyfive miles per hour. " "I will yield it to no one but its mother," answered Wood. " "You would, if you had seen what I have. "Devilish strange!" thought he, chuckling to himself; "queer business! Capital trick of the cull in the cloak to make another person's brat stand the brunt for his own—capital! ha! ha! Won't do, though.
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