His eyes were narrow with desire like a panther’s as he grinned at seeing her visibly satisfied. I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall. One never knew when it would be necessary to resume her disguise. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. He has been lodged in every round-house in the metropolis, and has broken out of them all, and boasts that no prison can hold him. He lunched in the Legal Club in Chancery Lane, and met Ogilvy. “Perhaps one talks nonsense about a woman’s instinct,” she said.
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