But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad. All sorts of battered tramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. She veiled her emotion by taking off his overcoat. John laughed even harder, his eyes misting over. 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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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 01-10-2024 06:30:15