His foot tapped impatiently, and he took up the papers. The sounds that reach the ear, and the objects that meet the eye, are all calculated to awaken a train of sad and serious contemplation. "Thames!—Thames!" cried Winifred, rushing to the window. But then he began to take steps, and, at last, strides to something more and more like predominance. He's worth a dozen of you. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. Michelle walked up the concrete porch steps, gesturing to Lucy to do the same.
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