‘There’s no controlling you, is there?’ He held up his hands. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. I will shed no more blood. He stopped before her suddenly.
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