Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. "Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction. For that matter, my future be damned. “Don’t tell anyone I told you this. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. Sheila decided to do a little laundry one day, clothes that were in Lucy’s hamper, a dirty clothes bin that Lucy had insisted that she have for herself separate from the family one.
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