” It was a long, meandering talk, stupid, shameful, and unavoidable. Only the night before, in the dining room of the Hong-Kong Hotel, she had watched him empty glass after glass of whisky, and shudder and shudder. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. ‘The wretch said nothing to anyone. The arrival of the cart at the end of Field Lane, appeared the signal for an attempt at rescue. So soft.
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