When he found himself thinking about it, it upset him so that he at once resorted to distraction. “I’m not coarse—no! But I’ve got no purity of mind—no real purity of mind. Plote was sleeping or deaf. ” “I can’t go back to the Beck’s ever again. His sister followed. Gerald reached out a hand to stop her. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. The meat was coarse and disagreeably served.
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