“Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. Let me keep you from that man’s clutches. I wish they would just get it over with. 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. Lead, worth nothing at all until Hoddy picked them up; then they became full of magic. Placing a piece of money in Morgan's hands, he hurried out of the churchyard.
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