Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. . "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. " Here she began to blubber loudly for sympathy.
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