" "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples. Gerald swore. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. “I believed that he was the great multi-millionaire. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done.
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