CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. You’re splendid stuff, you know, but you’ve got nothing ready to sell. He thought her only an orphan in search of her English relatives.
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