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” She said dryly. “I wonder if you give me a thought. But probably not the truth. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. I can see the whole thing was just a set-up for sequels, though. Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water. While this was taking place, another and more serious interruption occurred. 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. “How would you prevent it?” she asked. “I hope you realize,” he went on, in a lower and less assured tone, “that I am in earnest—very much in earnest. How Jack Sheppard's Portrait was painted.
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