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. From what she could tell, he truly had convinced himself that he was in love with her, but she knew that his ardor would fade eventually inasmuch as she knew John’s would. Perhaps he had had money in the coat, back in Hong-Kong, and had been robbed without knowing it. Shame and electricity coursed through her veins, flowing directly from him in a flash flood.
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