He will have it that I’ve taken leave of my senses. Her soft brown eyes, inherited from Larry, warmed an already pretty face. But Melusine had overcome the weakness, calling the loss but a temporary setback. She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. 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.
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