Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty. ’ Abruptly, the niggling doubt that had been plaguing Lord Charvill came sweeping to the surface. ’ ‘Dunderhead. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. That’s why we are here. His back was no sooner turned, than she slipped this casket into the box. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him.
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