From beginning to end it was first-hand stuff. Wood started to his feet. Her mouth was worthy of her face; with small, pearly-white teeth; lips glossy, rosy, and pouting; and the sweetest smile imaginable, playing constantly about them. That added to his puzzle. 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. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. " "Mother!" cried Jack, in a broken voice.
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