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The Firing Line by Robert W. (Robert William) Chambers
page 29 of 595 (04%)
gloom.

Malcourt looked after him; an edge of teeth glimmering beneath his full
upper lip.

"It might be more logical if he'd cut out his alcohol before he starts
in as a gouty marine missionary," he observed. "Last night he sat there
looking like a superannuated cavalry colonel in spectacles, neuritis
twitching his entire left side, unable to light his own cigar; and there
he sat and rambled on and on about innate purity and American
womanhood."

He turned abruptly as a steward stepped up bearing a decanter and tray
of glasses.

Portlaw helped himself, grumbling under his breath that he meant to cut
out this sort of thing and set Wayward an example.

Malcourt lifted his glass gaily:

"Our wives and sweethearts; may they never meet!"

They set back their empty glasses; Portlaw started to move away, still
muttering about the folly of self-indulgence; but the other detained
him.

"Wayward took it out of me in 'Preference' this morning while Garry was
out courting. I'd better liquidate to-night, hadn't I, Billy?"

"Certainly," said Portlaw.
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