” She looked at him for a moment with fire in her eyes. But a biddable girl. ‘Only me name,’ Kimble said apologetically. She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. 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. " "Where are you going?" asked his mother. "That was the lad's name," returned the stranger.
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