Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. There she sought and at last found 107A, one of those heterogeneous piles of offices which occupy the eastern side of the lane. “Do it now. Hill lost a little of his truculency. Be a good wife to him. Mr. 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. Annabel lounged in her chair with a sort of insolent abandon in her pose, and wide-open eyes which never flinched or drooped.
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