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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 would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. "No friend like the mother, for the babby knows no other. The third time she escaped she reached the inconsequent barricade of the overturned table. This charming episode was repeated three times. ‘Then let her keep her Frenchified titles to herself. In some instances she tantalizes the victim for years and mocks him in the end.
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