Their flitting hands were always touching. He was also, had she known it, more than a little insincere. ‘You have something more to tell me?’ Jack grinned. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. She shut her lips hard, her jaw hardened, and she set herself to struggle with him. “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. He would know her address to-morrow.
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