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. And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons. Why do I want him so badly? Why do I want him, and think about him, and fail to get away from him? “It isn’t all of me. These sham ideals and advanced notions. " "Is the sloop ready to sail?" asked Wild, without noticing the skipper's remark.
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