Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. Your old rooms are there, if you choose. He turned to observe what this object was that had so unexpectedly diverted the young man's attention. 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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