"What the devil are you howling about?" cried Langley. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. Bought the freedom of a sing-song girl; and all the while you knew you'd have to tote the girl back. “I am. No more. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently.
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