The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. Happily they had no one else to wait for, and it heartened her mightily to think that she had ordered the promptest possible service of the dinner. ‘You wound me to the heart, Melusine.
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