The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. The boss says to me: 'Higg, here's a guy we want back. Sheppard," said the carpenter, advancing to meet her, and trying to look as cheerful and composed as he could; "what brings you to town, eh?— Nothing amiss, I trust?" "Nothing whatever, Sir," answered the widow. ’ Pottiswick sucked at his teeth through the gaps.
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