“Eight, Cavendish Square. "You poor child!—you can have all the dogs on the island, if you want them! Come along to the kitchen, and we'll give Rollo a tubbing. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. From this night I shall pursue a different course; from this night his ruin may be dated. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. She repeated this breathlessly. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. He opened the drawer of the writing table.
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