He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. He caught the elderly dame’s eye, throwing her a desperate message. ‘You have rifled his papers. Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen. I didn't expect you home before that hour, Sir. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described.
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