" "Ah," said Spurlock; "that kind of a man. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. ’ ‘What young lady?’ demanded a voice from the back of the hall. ” He held his breath as she reached over the stick shift and touched his face. A sea voyage under sail will be the making of him. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin.
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