Believe me, Anna. “In two days,” she reflected, “Mrs. Whatever anticipation Ann Veronica had formed of this vanished in the reality. Ruth could tell the doctor; she could bare many of her innermost thoughts to that kindly man; but there was an inexplicable reserve before this young man whom she still endued with the melancholy charm of Sydney Carton. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky.
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