She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched her come in, I watched her go. What is there?” “Tristan. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. But I don’t wish to hear that abomination on her lips again. You are not a coward David, and you must not talk like one. ‘If you had told him that I would rather die than see him, he would not have come. 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. Instead, her husband was probably wise.
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