"I am content," said Jack. The voices went into his ears but left no impression of their import. When she got home to her lodgings that evening she reflected with something like surprise upon her half-day’s employment, and decided that it showed nothing more nor less than that Capes was a really very interesting person indeed. He could lose himself for hours at a time. 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 was greatly heartened by doing this. More than this, it would serve to mitigate her own abysmal loneliness to pool it temporarily with his. “It is just a look.
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