" "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. The Idle Apprentice. It was there in the breast pocket, stiff and legal looking. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. CHAPTER XXIV. The confirmed drunkard's mouth at length sets itself peculiarly; it becomes the mark by which thoughtful men know him.
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