The next minute, I contrived, without either of 'em perceiving me, to convey it into my own pocket. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. "Don't you hear those shouts? Yon fellow's clamour has brought the whole horde of jail-birds and cut-throats that infest this place about our ears. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. “His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. The dinner was stranger than she had ever anticipated. He lowered his voice a little and leaned over towards her.
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