“Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. She feasted reluctantly, partly out of wonder at the new function of her often elongated canines. So long as he lived, Spurlock knew that in fancy he would be reconstructing that scene between himself and Ruth's father. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. He placed his chin upon the top of her head. “Steady on!” he cried.
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