And now she had sent Jack away. 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. Sebastian had come to visit his old friend and former wife. She touched bow to strings, playing a fifth. He wondered why she thought love made people happy, and began to talk of the smilax and pinks that adorned the table. “Mine is a primitive and unstudied manner. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that.
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