‘Why have you come in here?’ demanded Melusine, turning on him. You don’t have to live forever to understand that. ” Sir John frowned. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. 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. There is no future for me here.
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