“We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. . Jolly nose! there are fools who say drink hurts the sight; Such dullards know nothing about it. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed huskily. “Listen! There was a Meysey Hill in Paris, an American railway millionaire. Understanding the appeal, the man snatched his master's sword from his grasp, and passed it through Darrell's body.
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