She passed people in the streets and regarded them with a quickening apprehension, once or twice came girls dressed in slatternly finery, going toward Regent Street from out these places. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. Better even than these. When they were home, the pair headed for the Big Apple or the warmth of the Beck’s family table. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone.
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