CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. ‘But it is not on the horse at all, Jacques. Wagner had just been in love when he wrote it all. It’s no good hiding it any more. Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched her come in, I watched her go. It is nothing at all for you to worry about. This, then, must be the person whom he had seen spring upon the western platform at the time of the collision between the boats.
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