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His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. Why hadn't he gone on with the girl's story? What instinct had stuffed it back into his throat? Why the inexplicable impulse to hurry this rather pathetic derelict on his way? CHAPTER XV Previous to his illness, Spurlock's mind had been tortured by an appalling worry, so that now, in the process of convalescence, it might be compared to a pool which had been violently stirred: there were indications of subsidence, but there were still strange forms swirling on the surface—whims and fancies which in normal times would never have risen above sub-consciousness. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. "Would I had never seen either of you!" cried Jack, rising and pacing the apartment with a hurried step. ” She led the way, talking all the time to Ennison. “You silly fool,” he said.
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