” She said. See paragraph 1. No, no! Not now!" Ruth turned abruptly and walked toward the bungalow, mounted the veranda steps, and vanished within. The clanking of chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been music in Jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself to such sounds. She glared at him with satisfaction. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. Furious shouting, and the thunder of running feet.
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