CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. "Come, then," said Wild, marching towards the door, "we've no time to lose. Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, but where the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task. She knew the truth of it all right. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. He refused to believe that Anna was not ‘Alcide. " "'Ouns!" ejaculated Terence, in alarm, "would you turn snitch on your old pal, Quilt?" "Ay, if he plays a-cross," returned Quilt. "If I escape, I will reward you.
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