” He rowed a stroke and watched the swirl of water from his oar broaden and die away. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. "And there you're right, you may dipind, marm," observed Terence. " "By the way, did you read those stories?" "Yes. ” She looked at him; his face, downcast and in profile, was handsome and strong. " The Wastrel laughed. But, here they are. .
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