The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. 2. “Hello? She’s like, your girlfriend, not mine. “Listen,” she said. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. To his astonishment and delight it yielded to the pressure, toppled over the ledge, and sank.
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