Entering the Lodge, the first person he beheld was Austin, who was only just up, and whose toilette appeared scarcely completed. She stood among them, watching them and feeling curiously alien to them. Griffin, who held the same office in Westminster Gatehouse were left in the Lodge. 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. You know that, and I know that, though we might be put to it to find a reason why.
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