After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. “You, anyhow, don’t deserve it,” he said. She looked down tassels of his shiny shoes with a scowl. The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. I can assure you, Anna, it will take me years to get decently established. But, if you have any particular fancy for hanging the gentleman, who chose to take the law into his own hands—and I think your motive extremely disinterested and praiseworthy—why, it's just possible, if you make it worth my while, that your desires may be gratified. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters.
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