Very gently indeed, Alderley grasped the handle of the door and stealthily turned it. For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. ‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper.
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