He was in misery; he was paying for last night's debauch. The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. " Silence. ” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. "Why, this is your writing Dolly, and addressed to Mr. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy.
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