Earles threw down his pen with a little exclamation. Suppose our proper place is a shrine. From the Sha-mien to the yacht, Spurlock had uttered no word; though, even in the semi-darkness, no gesture or word of Ruth's escaped him. B. "Them's catchpoles, I s'pose, Sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude.
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