Only promise me this. ’ Kimble nodded. Her knees were trembling, her whole frame was shaken with sobs. Mike was drinking a cup of black coffee. It was a unique experience for her to wash him. His sword done with, he took up the bludgeon; balanced it in his hand; upon the points of his fingers; and let it fall with a smash, intentionally, upon the table. 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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