” She looked up at him quickly. 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. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. You want industry—you want steadiness. But to draw the attention of the milice, no, that is not at all desirable. Even Ah Cum had resumed his Oriental shell of reserve.
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