As the Wastrel rushed, Spurlock sidestepped, swept the ball into his hand, set himself and threw it. “Yes, I know. My name is Armytage—Lord Ernest Armytage. ” A fair-haired young Englishman looked up from the depths of his easy chair. "Take him to the bilbowes. He did not like it, he said, with a significant look, to be reminded of either his books or his dinners after he had done with them.
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