He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered. I want to be myself. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. 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. He’s just. We have that gift. " Mr.
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