Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. A pane of glass was shivered by each stone. But he seized the chance to entrap her fingers, fan and all, and look deeply into her eyes. Presently he reached out and laid his hand upon Spurlock's motionless shoulders. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. "What's the matter, lad, after all the wonderful fireworks at lunch?" Spurlock beheld McClintock standing beside him. " "Keep in your own room, at all events," rejoined Kneebone. But, perhaps Mr.
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