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"To-morrow night!" said Spurlock, in a wondering whisper. “It is unimportant,” she said. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. ‘Civilian peace-keeping forces, you know. CHAPTER XXI. Maggot, kissing her hand to him. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. He took over, doing his best to rearrange his overly sensitive member back into his pants. "She considers her future blasted beyond hope.
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