" CHAPTER XX To Spurlock it seemed as if a great iron door had swung in behind him, shutting out the old world. There’d only be endless rows if I was at home. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. Well, my friend found us out, and would give no quarter. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. This was irregular. ‘Eh bien, does that mean that you will do it again?’ ‘Not if I can help it,’ Gerald uttered, alarmed. I suppose if one were to love some one, one would feel doubtful. ” Lucy commented, dismayed. ” “Don’t worry yourself. ‘Yes, miss.
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