It was Ennison, who loomed up through the shadows. “You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. “Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. Any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone.
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