"The danger's past," whispered Bess. ’ ‘Gosse,’ corrected Lucilla. Spurling stood her negro attendant, Caliban; a hideous, misshapen, malicious monster, with broad hunched shoulders, a flat nose, and ears like those of a wild beast, a head too large for his body, and a body too long for his legs. 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. He glanced at it, and saw the bloodied blade. That is why I was so anxious to leave Paris. There ends my duty. “Look at me.
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