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. She stopped eating. She had not noticed such beauty in many years, and it almost caused her to weep. Top-side insurance people. He refused. And yet—I love you. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair.
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