“Like a stab. 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. Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter. When he beheld Jack he uttered a deep groan. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. "I've counted ten coffins so far. ‘Might have forgiven him,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘if he hadn’t taken the babe.
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