I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. pgdp. "At the bottom of that big envelope I found this one. A hansom stopped a little way off. Perhaps, as you say, I do not really care—but I cannot do it.
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