“Take my advice,” he said hoarsely. Have you ever voted, Mr. ” “Alive,” Annabel moaned, her eyes large with terror. Then the long lashes sank demurely over them. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. And now she insisted that she MUST leave the chastened security of the Tredgold Women’s College for Russell’s unbridled classes, and wanted to go to fancy dress dances in pirate costume and spend the residue of the night with Widgett’s ramshackle girls in some indescribable hotel in Soho! He had done his best not to think about her at all, but the situation and his sister had become altogether too urgent. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. What his head conceived his hand executed. His glances were hard to disguise as he scanned her periodically during class.
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