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. You get one, you get them all. With his black and gray hair, his gray-green eyes were a striking contrast and he looked even younger, as if he had been frozen at age thirty-three. Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not. “Why, it’s David!” he exclaimed. ‘You know about that?’ ‘It was the only possible deduction.
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