“I should like you to come here,” she said. She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. Spurlock looked up. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. Unless he has killed someone. “Annabel,” she said brusquely.
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