I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall. But his daughter might well have a claim. Gerald lost his head. He was absolutely unable to focus his ideas. "They imagine their work is done. “You may talk—if you can talk cheerfully, not unless. I'm heading for bed. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. "So much the better," rejoined Sir Rowland.
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