They were sitting alone, Lucy. The light fell upon the fugitive, who stood before him in an attitude of defence, with the child in his arms. 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. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. "But be it as it may, he is now beyond the reach of earthly punishment. I've told you about him; and you wrote a shrewd yarn on the subject.
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