CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. “What the hell. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. This lady is my wife, and I have a right to be here. " Trenchard, meanwhile, whose gaze was fixed upon the boy, became livid as death, but he moved not a muscle.
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