"Yes, Auntie! And to date you have cost me precisely sixteen thousand dollars— hard earned, every one of them. 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. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. " "So it is, child.
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