Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. "And now, Sir," he said, preparing to take his departure, "will you add to the obligation already conferred by informing me where I can meet with Mr. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on.
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