All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. Three more people came to meet them at the door. They walked two by two to the car, looking the part of 267 two weary spouses supporting their drunken mates after an all-night bender. If I had known that you had meant to talk like this I wouldn’t have come here.
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