"With your friends, dear Mrs. ‘Alors, you make a game with me, I see that. Drummond nodded. It seemed older than Rome, and the stone covering it gave resistance. Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter One In the quiet of an autumn afternoon, the deserted mansion slept. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky.
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