“What can one say?” she exclaimed. " Sister Prudence looked at Sister Angelina, who understood what was expected of her. 192 Her skirt had ridden almost to her hips. 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. No one had the resources or the inclination to rebuild them. He went over his interview with her again, their conversation at dinner-time. What beasts men are! I cannot typewrite, my three stories are still wandering round, two milliners have refused me as a lay figure because business was so bad.
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