I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. Having ascertained that Thames was at his heels, he hurried with his ghastly burthen down Seacoal Lane. She had not seen him in two and a half centuries.
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