He turned in at the club. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. He had nothing more to say either to her or to Spurlock. It was filled with sopping lichens and green benches too slimy to sit upon. "Wretch!" cried Jack.
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