At first she thought that the woman was just a servant. As a matter of fact, I had never spoken to him before in my life. ‘And I’d like to know what the devil—’ ‘Out of town?’ repeated Melusine, stupefied. 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 went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste. No matter. The noise startled the apprentice, who instantly suspended his labour, and gazed anxiously in the direction whence he supposed it proceeded. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off.
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