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But give me till to-morrow—only till to-morrow—I may be able to part with him then. ’ ‘Couldn’t help but do so, ma’am,’ said Mrs Ibstock. “I wish that I could forget it,” he said. ‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile. The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. Day before, send round to each to borrow a shirt. 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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