[Half a Rogue by Harold MacGrath]@TWC D-Link book
Half a Rogue

CHAPTER VIII
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McQuade and Martin entered a cafe popular for its noon lunches.

It was hot weather in July, and both were mopping their bald foreheads, their faces and necks.

The white bulldog trotted along behind, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and his eyes heavy.

The two men sat down in a corner under an electric fan; the dog crawled under the table, grateful for the cold stone tiling.
"What do you know about this fellow Warrington ?" asked McQuade, tossing his hat on one of the unoccupied chairs.
"The fellow who writes plays ?" "Yes.

What do you know about him ?" "Why, he used to peddle vegetables and now he owns a swell place on Williams Street." "Gamble ?" "Not that I know of.


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