Mr. ” She looked at him quizzically and shrugged. He did it, he said, “to distract his mind. “Get me some brandy and my bag. From me. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. " He started to pick up a sheet of manuscript, but she pushed him from the table toward the doorway; and he staggered out of the bungalow, suddenly stretched his arms, and broke into a trot. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write.
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