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She had worried in fear that the excitement would be too much for him. Besides ——” She stopped short. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. ” “Six pounds. I thank God for the very skin that is peeling from your nose, for all things great and small that make us what we are. 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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