CHAPTER VIII. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. Spurling," said Jonathan, who overheard the whisper, "you owe your situation to me. He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. It was the gallows. She looked from Anna, who was far too nice-looking to be travelling about alone, to that reassuring pile of luggage, and wrinkled her brows thoughtfully.
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