And shall their wretched offspring live to blight my hopes, and blast my fame? Never!" And, with these words, he grasped Wood by the throat, and, despite his resistance, dragged him to the very verge of the platform. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. CHAPTER XXIII Next morning Ruth did not refer to the episode on the sands of the lagoon. I've another reason for supposing he'll pay me a visit.
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