‘Now what?’ The guard jerked his head up the corridor. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. Something forbade him to draw her toward him and seal the compact with a kiss. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. Gerald, intent on his trail, ignored it.
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