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. “Annabel,” she said, “I have never asked you for your confidence. I want you to be clear what you’re really and truly up to, anyhow. “What else did Michelle say?” “She said that the guy was all broken up about it, that he had another woman on the side or something. You seemed complete—without that. Advancing to the middle of the chamber, he halted, drew himself up, and fixed his dark, expressive eyes, on Thames Darrell. I don’t know. don’t have time. ‘It is not your affair.
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