When he awoke, it was late in the day; but though he heard voices outside, and now and then caught a glimpse of a face peeping at him through the iron grating over the door, no one entered the prison, or held any communication with him. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. Spurlock relaxed, suddenly, and sank deeply into his pillows.
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