Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. As Spurlock called her name, she paused and turned. His struggles were so violent, that, being a man of tremendous strength, it was some time before they could master him, and it required the combined efforts of all the four partners to put him into irons. ‘Jacques!’ Melusine dropped to her haunches beside his inert form, feeling for the wound. Dizziness overcame him like anesthetic and he slept.
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