She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her microscope toward her. “Please not now. 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. " "Is he leaving England?" demanded Thames, in astonishment.
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