It suited him to dampen the spirits of any who sought to impose upon him, as these relics of the loathed family of Valade seemed like to do. Heaven alone knows why. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. No doubt she was wondering what he had done in Charvill’s house and what he intended 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. Girls who had envied her former position as John’s amour passed no opportunity to utter cryptic remarks as she sat in Study Hall, walked down hallways, or rinsed her hands in the bathroom. ‘Yes, but quite my own fault. She stole a few glances at John as she stood and played the pieces. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. " "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair.
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