"What of her?" cried the knight. The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank. "Come, come, Jack," said Thames, walking up to Sheppard, and taking his hand, "have done with this. 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. Anyhow, that is how things are.
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