Thames did not try to cheer her. Five minutes ago, his butler had entered the green saloon, an austere apartment, with dark forest-green wallpaper flocked with a swirling design, and heavy mahogany furniture. “I had to. ’ Hilary stared. \" She fibbed. “I WILL be arrested! I WON’T go home!” the little old lady was screaming over and over again. 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. I was looking for rooms last week. Folding his arms, he placed his back against the door, and burst into a loud laugh.
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