gutenberg. What a heat that news had wrought. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. You can think all round me. Jove, he didn’t take to it kindly, I can tell you. It'll be advertised to-morrow. I'm not hungry. The flat was apparently empty. . Why should he stare at her in this fashion?—for all the world as if she had pointed a pistol at his head? CHAPTER III He had said it, spoken it like that … his own name! After all these weeks of trying to obliterate even the memory of it!… to have given it to this girl without her asking! The thought of peril cleared a space in the alcoholic fog. "What is she saying to me?" Ah Cum shrugged. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. He was full of fabulous stories, not just tales of his own past in Rome but wonderful fables from the mysterious Orient and the ancient Greeks, old jokes and yarns that only he remembered. The entire family massacred.
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