Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured lady of good family. "Steady, old top! What are you going to do?" "The damned scoundrel!" "I told you that child was opal. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet.
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