” She patted his arm and wiped her tears away. Life waits for us. ‘You said it. "The part was crooked," she explained. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. 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.
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