Part 2 The next morning was as dark and foggy as if it was mid-November instead of early March. In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. "Anywhere," he said in answer to the manager's query. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play.
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