"You've won your wager. “But, of course, she may have come from one of the other flats. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. She looked about, watching a massive green storm cloud building in the west.
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