But I can't account for it!" "At all events, you shall answer for it," thundered Wild, with a bitter imprecation. She had money of her own—much more than I have—and there was no need to squabble about that. There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. Forgive me. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds.
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