Still it was possible, and the difficulty was only a fresh incitement. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. His face brightened at the sight of her, and he came toward her. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her.
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