"I was just thinking of you Jack. " "Look at it, then," said Wild, giving him the portfolio. He never asked questions; he never addressed his companions; and frequently he took off his cap and wiped his forehead. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. It’s one of our conventional superstitions.
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