You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. 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. McClintock does it; and he knows why. He would have some sport with Mr. But you need not fear,’ she added, shaking him off. After a while he spoke again. ‘You are dead, you,’ he yelled back, leaping into the seat of the final pew.
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