“You see,” he said, “you are like an inaccessible gold-mine in all this sort of matter. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. All right really. And she buried herself beneath the straw, which she tossed above her head with the wildest gestures. The woman I wanted was another man's wife.
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