” “That will follow,” said Kitty Brett—“that will follow. 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. So far the boy's mind was clear. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet.
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