Spurlock bent his head to his knees. Goodbye. He sent me flowers. But his eyes were on the Frenchman, and as Valade moved up the other road a little way, the lad shifted alertly, and swiftly closed the distance to the intersection. ***** Spurlock possessed that extraordinary condition of the mind which is called New England conscience. Supper was over. Let me only wear your livery. You are—horrible.
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