] CHAPTER XI The second call energized her into action. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. To these a heavy wooden apparatus was attached, which could be raised or lowered at pleasure by pullies. “See you at school tomorrow. Think—think of that engagement!” Their talk had come to eloquent silences that contradicted all he had to say. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. In a sense I don’t care.
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