He would know her address to-morrow. “My word holds,” she said. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. Meantime, as the doctor was splitting his breakfast orange, he heard a commotion in his office, two rooms removed: volleys of pidgin English, one voice in protest, the other dominant. In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. Mr. He was profoundly stirred. “Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful.
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