‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked. Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble. The door popped open with a sigh. They clapped wildly afterward. “That was a moment of madness,” she said. It was perfectly logical. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. She could not help but swoon a little.
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