’” Anna made no remark. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. "But I can guess what it's for. ’ A peal of delighted laughter greeted this threat. What's all this about, anyhow? You. No other man should touch her; she was Hoddy's, body and soul, in this life and after. I just want him, and no one else will do. And to wish not is useless, because you have told me from when I was a little girl. ‘Don’t tell me. ’ ‘The Frenchie? I only knows as how Miss says he will ruin everything. For many of them it will smirch us forever. And it's uncanny. They don’t count, and I don’t care.
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