"My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared. At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. “I wonder how it is,” she exclaimed, “that my friends have so much more confidence in me than I have in myself.
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