The stranger with a bow returned to his table. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. That dress! Only a man—and an unworldly one—would have permitted you to proceed on your adventure dressed in a gown thirty years out of date. Was he really awake? The arrival and departure of this strange father lacked the essential human touch to make it real. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. I never hunt the human tiger without being armed.
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