Never was there another girl like this one. There’s sure to be a place somewhere. ‘Why?’ Melusine eyed him dubiously. 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. She visualized him as in a policeman’s uniform and quite impassive. Anywhere! Moonlight and music—pleasing, you know, but quite unnecessary. ’ Both hands about the butt of her unwieldy pistol, Melusine glared at him.
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