The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. If I'd not gone mad, they would have hanged me. Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within. And, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a respectable member of society. Take him away," he added, striding up to Charcam. ’ ‘What offer?’ she asked, suspicion rife in her voice.
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