He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. Yet she never once thought of changing it. But in a moment she believed she understood. You must have repented a little, or you would not have done that. This hand consigned him to destruction, but another was stretched forth to save him. Where the stuff came from was always a mystery. "Out of the beaten track, with a real man for an employer? How would that strike you?" Interest shot into Spurlock's eyes; it spread to his wan face. But how far could he fly on a few hundred? True, he might find a job somewhere; but every footstep from behind…! "Who is she? Where does she come from?" "You mean Miss Enschede?" "Yes. He's got the gift of the gab. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health.
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