" "It is false," cried Mrs. "Impossible!" echoed Wild, with a fearful imprecation. For your information, it was paradise there. " "Humph!" exclaimed Wild. ’ The sharp eyes twinkled. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. Almost the last female to bear the name, too,’ muttered the old lady. Gerald went through all the papers in front of Gosse and that woman of his, one by one.
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