CHAPTER XXIV. ‘She wormed it out of me, the little fiend. Plote was sleeping or deaf. But eventually Spurlock laughed. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. He knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions. “Vee,” she said, “come home. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. My father died a year ago, by the way. He took his seat at the table, but leaned forward to address her.
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