“Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. "Don't think to deceive me by your false pretences. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. ‘I’ve finished me report, sir,’ Trodger said aggrievedly. My janizaries are without. And there was another matter. You and I will agree upon the Ten Commandments; but perhaps we will refuse to accept the other's interpretation of the ramifications. But I shall take care of Ruth, work for her and fight for her. We've got to make him take up the harp of life and go twanging it again. Couldn’t make head nor tail of that note of yours. 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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