She creaked, groaned, and rattled; but that was only her way of yawning when she awoke. ” “You love—Anna?” she exclaimed. "I have no sympathy," replied Prudence, "with a man who deliberately fuddles himself with strong drink. My birth certificate was destroyed when the county building it was housed in burned down. 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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