’ ‘So that you may interest yourself in my affairs even more?’ ‘Then I will go with you,’ he offered. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. Until at last I persuaded him to go to bed. ’ Mrs Sindlesham shook with laughter. Part 5 After the interview Ann Veronica considered herself formally cut off from home. Never had he been so intrigued. She leaned a little towards him. “Glaciers?” she said. Mrs. —Strype's Stow.
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