Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. The entrance was concealed between two huge boulders within a clump of trees, and was now so overgrown that no one who did not know of its existence could ever hope to find it. \"God, it's too curly for a brush. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. " "You never told me what he is like," said Spurlock. Ramage, and might describe the affair to him, she cried “Oh!” with renewed vexation, and repeated some steps of her dance in a new and more ecstatic measure. ” “And leave you here alone?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper. "Do better in future.
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