And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. All this muddle to placate his conscience! "Here—quick!" McClintock thrust a cigar into Spurlock's hand. From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. Where the stuff came from was always a mystery. ‘I knew I should find you still here. The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was that it had rather a light way with parental rights. It's only a gentleman come to offer you his hand.
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