He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. “When are you going away?” He asked. " "You read those yarns?" Spurlock's head came about, and there was eagerness in his eyes. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. " "He's let out for a few hours," laughed Kneebone; "but he's going back again after supper. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own.
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