While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. But no more of that. What was his astonishment to recognise in the few words they uttered the voices of Kneebone and Winifred! The latter was apparently in great distress, and the former seemed to be using his best efforts to relieve her anxiety. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMjIuNjguNDkgLSAyMC0wNS0yMDI0IDAyOjQ2OjU1IC0gMTM4NTkyNzM5Mw==
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