“Yeah, I know. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep. The scrutiny of any strange man provoked a sweaty terror. She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead. Wood, in a taunting tone. Your career at the bar had given you a command of language, also a self-control not vouchsafed to us ordinary mortals. And I’d do it again for you if needs be.
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