Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. ‘It must have been so, Melusine, or I wouldn’t have kissed you. He was fast rising to an eminence that no one of his nefarious profession ever reached before him, nor, it is to be hoped, will ever reach again. After that, we'll go our several ways.
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