There was something markedly and deliberately liberal-minded in his manner in all their encounters. As though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness. He was in a curious state of desperation. ‘You the fellow Gerald spoke to?’ Kimble flushed beetroot, and Melusine had a flash of insight. I may prevail upon them to take you in until you are full-fledged, providing you do not find this aunt. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky.
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