‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. I have had a good many desperate engagements in my time, and have generally come off victorious. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. "But be prudent, my angel. Thanks. ” He said. Cathy Beck was outraged. Her voice recalled him. Besides, by the time they were off his hands, old McClintock would be dropping in to have his liver renovated. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. ’ *** Mrs Chalkney, a long-time friend of the late Mrs Alderley, had been delighted to oblige that lady’s son. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him.
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