CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. “All right?” he asked. " "Follow me, then," cried Thames, drawing his sword, and springing through the window. The afternoon had passed now into twilight. Hartford had a very respectable sound. They seem to spend their time yawning and inspecting their neighbour’s dresses through those hateful glasses. It was. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. I've watched this lad—this Sheppard—from infancy; and, though I have apparently concerned myself little about him, I have never lost sight of my purpose.
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