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"Again," cried Jonathan, sternly: "beware!" "What!" vociferated Trenchard. There was no need to be afraid for me. “I wonder if you will?” “Let me say one thing,” he said. ‘Why did you kiss me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Gerald admitted. “It is about your sister, Lady Ferringhall. Hope you ate light before you got here. Why hadn't he gone on with the girl's story? What instinct had stuffed it back into his throat? Why the inexplicable impulse to hurry this rather pathetic derelict on his way? CHAPTER XV Previous to his illness, Spurlock's mind had been tortured by an appalling worry, so that now, in the process of convalescence, it might be compared to a pool which had been violently stirred: there were indications of subsidence, but there were still strange forms swirling on the surface—whims and fancies which in normal times would never have risen above sub-consciousness. The executioner shook his head. The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come.
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