“That’s enough, Michelle!” Diane snapped in the ugly raised voice of the enforcer. “This is MY thing,” said Ann Veronica, softly, with thoughtful eyes upon him. 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. He glanced out of the window, looked back at the major and grasped the handle of the door.
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