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Updated: May 27, 2025
Drumtochty admitted that this showed a woman of vigour although our conventions did not allow us to treat Clockie or any known wastrel so masterfully and there was an evident anxiety to hear more.
"These folks beat me!" She turned, grasping Phoebe's arm to enforce her request, but she found that others had crowded in behind them and had hemmed them in. This would not have deterred her but, unaccountably, Phoebe did not seem inclined to move. "Nay nay!" she said. "'Tis a wanton wastrel, and he well deserves the pillory.
'Tain't playin' the game, and I ain't a-goin' to 'ave it. "'Then what do you propose to do? I asked with some curiosity. "'I perpose, the little wastrel replied haughtily, 'for to 'ave the loar on yer. I'm a-goin' to put the coppers on to this 'ere job. "With this he turned somewhat hastily and shambled away up the street at the quick shuffle characteristic of his class.
If it was not the widow of a deceased friend who needed a ton of coal or a sack of flour, or the reckless, headstrong boy of parents too poor to save him from a term in jail or the reformatory and who asked for fine-money or an appeal to higher powers for clemency, or a wastrel actor or actress "down and out" and unable to "get back to New York" and requiring his or her railroad fare wired prepaid, it was the dead wastrel actor or actress who needed a coffin and a decent form of burial.
The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. Here, then, but for the time and place, might be another Sidney Carton. Given the proper incentive, who could say that he might not likewise go nobly to some fine end? She thrilled. To find the incentive! But how? Thither and yon the idea roved, seeking the way.
The guillotine was impartial, and fell with equal velocity on the neck of the proud duke and the gutter-born fille de joie, on a descendant of the Bourbons and the wastrel born in a brothel. The ministerial decrees favoured the proletariat.
"And you ran away with a weakling! You denied me for a puppet!" "My lawful husband." "Ah, yes, yes; lawful husbands in these parts are those who can take and hold.... As I shall take and hold." The Wastrel advanced. "If you touch me I will kill you," said Ruth, grasping the scissors which lay beside the pencils Hoddy's! The Wastrel laughed, still advancing. "Fire!
It came to Spurlock suddenly that if something did not react in his favour inside of five minutes, he was done. In a side-glance for the floor was variously encumbered with overturned objects he saw one of his paper weights, a coloured glass ball such as McClintock used in trade. As the Wastrel rushed, Spurlock sidestepped, swept the ball into his hand, set himself and threw it.
And there's your liver." "Ay, and there's my liver. It'll be turning over to-morrow. But never mind that," said McClintock grinning as he drew the dish of bread-fruit toward him. "To-morrow I shall have a visitor. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel. I've told you about him; and you wrote a shrewd yarn on the subject." "The pianist?" "Yes.
For us there was genuine relief in turning from the miasma of brooding doom which overhung the Wastrel to the spiced fragrance of this self-revealed personality. It was a clean breeze into our asphyxiation. It was a momentary excursion out of a noisome dungeon into an old-fashioned garden, where roses nod and illusions bloom.
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