But not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold. Heaven forbid. At first Spurlock tasted coconut in his eggs, in what meat he ate; it permeated everything, taste and smell. It began as a joke. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell. They were the same. Which is why I wasn’t able to see him until today.
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