" "God help me, what a muddle!" The cigar crumbled in Spurlock's hand. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. CHAPTER XXVI Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtain rattle behind him. Marriage!—and no woman by to tell the child what it was! The shocks and disillusions she would have to meet unsuspectingly—and bitterly. The Chapel 401 XX. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. Hastening along the passage he came to the sixth door. . . Gerald went through all the papers in front of Gosse and that woman of his, one by one. You do not need me to remind you of your success at Paris.
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