” She thought more and more along that line. The policeman raised his voice, slightly agitated. Perhaps the sunken cheeks and the protruding cheekbones gave her this impression. She felt her heartbeat accelerate until it was pounding her chest. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. 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. She felt herself shaking again. He would read the jokes and illustrate them; and after a time I could see the point of a joke without having it explained to me. “As she asked!” “It is already too late.
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