’ He received a glare from his captive. She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. \"What's that?\" Lucy asked. The contest, however, though desperate, was brief. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. .
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