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CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. That is easy. Go away!” “Why kill this one, Lucia? She shall be missed. It is not possible for us to be on friendly terms with a young man who has been seen in a public place, having supper alone with your sister after midnight.
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