He lit a cigarette and loitered about. But the figure was evidently too intent on peering within the ballroom to pay any attention to what might be occurring outside. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. He filled her glass with champagne. Too late now. If this is the young lady, she can perhaps calm him. Ah, and put him under if he wakes up. Spurling's sooty imp, Caliban.
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