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Anna crossed the street, and letting herself in at No. ” Anna looked for a moment steadily at her sister, whose face was still averted. “I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. Wiped out, but for these. Cathy threw Mike a look.
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