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. She looked at him curiously. The blow was scarcely dealt, when, with a bound like that of a tiger, Blueskin sprang upon him. Hoddy. ‘I’ll make you an offer. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality.
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