The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. "'Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. ” The official had no more to say. 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 would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. There’s no family uniting instinct, anyhow; it’s habit and sentiment and material convenience hold families together after adolescence.
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