She felt anger at Sebastian, anger at the thrill that she felt in her loins upon seeing him, anger at herself for never having the courage to end her own life. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. Everybody seemed greatly concerned about the sincerity of Tolstoy. He pressed the long shapely hand warmly in his. When they reached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. So I made haste and recovered. From where had he come, and why? An author! To her he would be no less interesting because he was unsuccessful.
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This video was uploaded to mine-tec.com on 06-06-2024 05:12:41
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