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 cried out with the pain of it. The next weekend arrived and she made her decision. You could walk the city streets and with every blink you could take in a new sight of beauty so great that your heart would weep for it. There are two ways to go in, you understand. . ‘It needs not that you tell me.
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