If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. "You've got him?" demanded Ireton. come. Jackson. But though she lied about pretty much everything else, she didn’t lie about that. Neither of them joined in the applause which followed upon her exit. 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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