Ramage pursed his rather loose lips and shrugged his shoulders, with his eyes fixed steadily upon her. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. She could manage the major. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. \"I'd like some popcorn. ’ ‘But, no,’ cried Melusine anxiously.
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