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Updated: May 25, 2025
Schomberg bit his tongue just too late, and woke up completely as he saw Ricardo retract his lips in a cat-like grin; but the companion of "plain Mr. Jones" didn't alter his comfortable, gossiping attitude. "Garn! What if he did want to see his money back, like any tame shopkeeper, hash-seller, gin-slinger, or ink-spewer does? Fancy a mud turtle like you trying to pass an opinion on a gentleman!
He felt positively the need to confide in her a subtle trait of masculinity, this almost physical need of trust which can exist side by side with the most brutal readiness of suspicion. "It's a game of grab see?" he went on, with a new inflection of intimacy in his murmur. He was looking straight at her now. "That fat, tame slug of a gin-slinger, Schomberg, put us up to it."
Louis. "He mustn't see me." "He'll see you sure if you leave now. You'll have to pass him. Stick here. We'll have some fun." The white-faced man sank back into his chair, while Anthony directed sharply: "Now, gentlemen, be seated. Here, Locke, your back to the door your face looks like a chalk-mine. There! Now don't be so nervous we'll cure this fellow's ambition as a gin-slinger.
Her smile appeared to him full of promise. He had not expected her to be what she was. Who, from the talk he had heard, could expect to meet a girl like this? She was a blooming miracle, he said to himself, familiarly, yet with a tinge of respect. She was no meat for the likes of that tame, respectable gin-slinger. Ricardo grew hot with indignation.
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