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 stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor. Ramage admitted the force of that. She was the consummate mother, even when extremely tired, she missed nothing. Tears began to stream from her cheeks.
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