The waterman sheltered his mouth with his hand while he spoke, or his voice would have been carried away by the violence of the blast. " Mr. ” He seemed to be elaborating ideas as he talked. He had come to Anna’s rooms from a dinner party, and he was in evening dress. Always as black and bitter as gall. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. Spurlock grew cold. A woman touched him lightly on the arm, and smiled into his face. All this muddle to placate his conscience! "Here—quick!" McClintock thrust a cigar into Spurlock's hand. There isn't a nurse this side of Hong-Kong to be had. At last, she breathed.
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