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After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. " He bent his head to his knees. His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. To-morrow morning I shall have made up my mind what to do.
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