Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. “I could not have stayed in Paris and waited for news. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. I'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream out—but ran and hid myself. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. "And, does any of our bright blood flow in the veins of a ruffianly housebreaker?" cried Trenchard, with a look of bewilderment. Kneebone, Van Galgebrok, and Baptist Kettleby—all of whom greeted him cordially.
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