Steeples toppled, and towers reeled beneath its fury. He was caressing an idea. ’ ‘Merci. At last she was roused. ” His arms were around her. " "Shall we do so?" whispered Winifred to her father. ” “You will shake hands with me, please,” she begged. But it sounds too real to be imagined. 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 had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred.
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