If the Wastrel had not turned the instant he did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turned directly into its path. “I’m sorry, ma’am, to seem the cause of any disturbance, but this,” he pointed to Anna, “is my wife. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. He drew an awed breath. . Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch.
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