Spurlock was by nature orderly, despite his literary activities. If you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at Jonathan's door,—and with reason too, as I can testify. He drew a little breath and stepped back. “You remember our first meeting?” “Yes,” he answered hoarsely. “Indeed,” she said, “I would not. She leaned over and kissed his cheek innocently.
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