At last, she breathed. ‘You cannot be always with me. ’ ‘The horse?’ echoed Melusine. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. She contrived to break down the barriers of shyness at last in one direction, and talked one night of love and the facts of love with Miss Miniver. 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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