Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. She was unusually pale, and her eyes were brilliant. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. ” Michelle sat in a yogi’s posture on the cold plywood, her eyes closed as if meditating. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem.
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