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. Perhaps in two or three weeks. . "Come along, Blueskin. I've sent for the priest. Don't be afraid. He saw three people: a young man at the piano, an elderly man smoking in a corner, and a young woman reclining in a chair, her eyes closed. ‘—without telling her why,’ he finished, ignoring the interjection.
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