” Courtlaw was pale and dishevelled. "Where am I?" asked Spurlock. " Pain was stabbing him, now here, now there; pain was real enough; but he could not establish as a fact in his throbbing brain the presence of his aunt in the doorway. He laughed once or twice at himself as he paced backwards and forwards. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica.
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