But since you assure me you didn't write the letters, and Mr. CHAPTER XXVI Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtain rattle behind him. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. Wood, bursting into tears, "God bless you!" Jack extended his hand towards him, and looked anxiously for Thames; but he was nowhere to be seen. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful.
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