“My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you. More,’ he said, ‘but I’m told it’s the most amusing thing in London at the present time. They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug. She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern. 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 looked around the apartment for other people. “Dear friend,” she said, “this is a matter which you must leave to me to do as I think best.
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