She stole her glances sideways like the rest of the women. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. 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. For a stunned moment, Emile did not speak. ’ She stopped, her lips tightening.
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