Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. Wood. "If I could only make you realize what you have done," he said, lamely. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. The lad hesitated. " "A time may come when you will be gratified, Mr.
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