Let—it—fall. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. “I’ll go. It was in no sense confessional; it was a state of mind in the patient the doctor had already anticipated. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. “Quite alone, sir. 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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