"An hour hence, I shall be beyond your malice," said Mrs. Sheppard; "most fortunate for me. 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. I wasn't taught that; I simply fell into it from contact. ‘This, as you see, is an identity for your cousin, André Valade. Sheppard remained dissolved in tears. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. Then a surge of rage welled up.
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