Well, it had to happen somewhen. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. With incredible labour, and by the aid of both spike and nail, he succeeded in getting the point of the bar beneath the fillet. I want to make you feel that here is a place where the crowd does not clamor nor ill-winds blow. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage.
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