When he came to a certain sentence in Brendon’s letter he stopped short and looked up at her. You don’t know. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. The fatal shower, from which he and his little charge escaped uninjured, had stricken his assailant and precipitated him into the boiling gulf. Time after time he sent Spurlock into this corner or that; but always the boy regained his feet before the murderous boot could reach the mark.
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