"Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. 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. . 'Sdeath! what can I have done with it? Oh! here it is," cried Hogarth, picking it from the ground. "He hash a long journey before him—ha! ha!" "Peace!" cried Jonathan.
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