Spurlock bent his head to the rail. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. Full as she was of him, it felt good to shower her kill out of her hair. "To him I owe everything," continued the widow, "life itself—nay, more than life,—for without his assistance I should have perished, body and soul. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites.
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