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Shakily, she rose with the sword and drove it through Rhea’s heart. “Did I do something wrong?” He asked. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. She gathered stones to place upon the makeshift grave. He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man.
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