The lady had disappeared. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. . We were fellow passengers from Charing Cross, and we have been fellow lodgers in the Rue d’Entrepot. I had to sell out, you see, when my father died, for the estate is in my hands. In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. .
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