The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. But he had now lost the precise spot; and thinking he had examined the drain, turned his attention to another quarter. ‘Now, madame, tell me all about your life in France. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. Maybe others that I do not know about. Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it beating in her ears.
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