"Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. "God forgive me for using such a word!" he cried, in a troubled tone; "if I hadn't yielded to my wife's silly request, this wouldn't have happened!" CHAPTER VII. “John, don’t!” she cried. CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. Nasty, damp passages.
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