I have been thinking—I will go to my wife again. 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. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. But it's best to be on the safe side. My death, probably.
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