Spurling stood her negro attendant, Caliban; a hideous, misshapen, malicious monster, with broad hunched shoulders, a flat nose, and ears like those of a wild beast, a head too large for his body, and a body too long for his legs. “What is going on between you two?” Lucy asked. She knew now that he never would. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. And the Duke, too—I heard him say that a married secretary would be worse than useless to him.
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