‘Possibly,’ he said. ’ Gerald controlled a quivering lip. ‘You’d do the same. ‘Why did you bring him? I hate him. "Come here," said the petticoated tyrant. Anna lets the deception continue and has to bear the burden of her sister’s reputation which, in Paris at any rate, is that of being a coquette. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky.
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