—'Why, hang every bailiff that sets a foot in your territories, and you're safe,' says I. She frowned, appearing to think for a moment. The vote is only the beginning, the necessary beginning. 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. He stood up, apparently intending to put an arm about her, but she stepped back from him quickly. It does not matter to him either way. "That is easily explained.
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