Mr. “I remember it very well indeed. “Mom, this is the girl I asked to Prom, Lucy. Humph. You are wedged in amongst a crowd, perhaps in the promenade, you lean over the back, you are almost out of sight. 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 knees were trembling, her whole frame was shaken with sobs.
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