“You know what a fearful old prig Ferringhall is, always goes about as though the whole world were watching him? We tried to show him around Paris, but he wouldn’t have any of it. Men in this part of the world drink to forget the things they have lost. You come to England, and hide in a secret convent in London. 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. "What do you want with me?" "A word in private," replied the other. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. I demand it as a right. " "Suffer me to proceed," replied the stranger. “Damned Rascal!” he said. After that time, I shall place my setters on your heels.
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