‘If he needed sanctuary, it raises grave doubts about his activities. The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly. ” She interrupted as Ann Veronica was about to speak again, with a bright contagious hopefulness. 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. Ann Veronica watched him from the dining-room window, and after some moments of maidenly hesitation rambled out into the garden in a reverse direction to Mr.
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