Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. ‘It did not seem to me that it was so. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. It is necessary. “It is not, of course, a pleasant subject of conversation for you or for me, yet I think I may venture to suggest to you that your sister’s—er—indiscretions—have reached a point which makes a separation between you almost a necessity. " The Wastrel rushed. This is where my character, Lucia, is coming from. “You must do more than think of it,” he urged. To settle things, you know.
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