An ugly flush stained his cheeks. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. He saw the girl, and sprang up in bed. " "Curse your reward!" exclaimed Kneebone, angrily. At length, when he saw no escape from the inevitable, he took the four title pages from the manuscripts and typed new ones, substituting Taber for Spurlock. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room.
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