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. Blue Ruin will do the job nicely. And now the fiend Gosse had taken even that away from her. You’re NOT to go. ‘Never. Yet, stay! There is one thing I wish you to do. “Are you aware, Ann Veronica, you nearly throttled that gentleman?” Then she reviled her own foolish way of putting it. ‘Very well, never mind. She turned her eyes to him again, and saw her late friend and pleasant and trusted companion, who had seen fit suddenly to change into a lover, babbling interesting inacceptable things. And, when I have seen him pining away before my eyes, getting thinner and thinner every day, I have sometimes thought my prayers were heard. He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort.
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