Spurlock dove headlong at the other's legs, toppling the man. ‘Not where we’re going. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. Lord, I am sixty. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better.
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