Everything seemed designed to unhinge the mind and make the cat wretched. 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. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. However, I've not told you all; for old Van did say something about the child saving his new-found friend's life at the time of meeting; but how that's to happen, I'm sure I can't guess. “The Widgetts,” she said. His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. She turned on the lad with her, who was visibly relieved.
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