” They left the restaurant just as the rain slowed to a dull trickle, the fury of the storm exhausted, having left mirror puddles in its wake. Sheppard, he turned to quit the churchyard. “Let’s go. The stranger started at the touch, and spoke. I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. . Brendon suggests supper at the Carlton.
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