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. "Long life to the Markis, and we accept his honourable proposal," responded the mob. When she released him he ran down the beach for a stick which he fetched and laid at her feet. “Annabel, I begin to see why you are here. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent.
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