She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. 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. Selling out of the Army to take up his inheritance had spelled boredom to Gerald Alderley. “Well,” she said, “good-night, father. "Why, you don't think as how they're crimps, do you?" Ben inquired. I overlooked the mechanical imperfections of your work, the utter lack of finish, the crudeness of your drawing. “So Brendon and I,” he said, “have been troubled with the same fears.
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