It was such an unexpected stroke of fortune. 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. Once I banged on the door so hard I split it in two. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon.
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