"Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. . 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. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. “But, forgive me, you are tired.
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