The whole incident was so unexpected that neither Courtlaw nor Brendon were awaiting. Aren’t I asking—asking plainly now?. 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. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. One studies Nature in order not to be blindly ruled by her. A fever of shame ran through her being.
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