" "Keep it," said Trenchard, haughtily. "Ay, indeed! And who may that be?" inquired his wife. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. behind the Laundromat. .
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