She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. "I am twenty," said the girl. If she spoke to a policeman she did not know what would ensue. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. It mattered not whether she flunked the year as she would soon be gone. “Thank you—and good-bye. It frightened her to behold her heart and mind thus laid bare; but the chapter following would reassure her.
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