" So saying, he pushed aside the table, and the janizary stooping down, undrew a bolt and opened a trap-door. “He looks as though he did, at any rate. I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty new records for the piano-player. 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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