Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally. " "What a life!" "No worse than yours. " "Then you will stay!" she cried, clapping her hands joyfully, "for I'm sure he won't part with you. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes.
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