As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. " "He shuddered when he drank. " But she did not complete the thought aloud. His face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion. She HAD cried, Ann Veronica knew. She refrained. "It looks as though, we should go together," he said, pulling her toward him.
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