“I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. “That beast of a fellow is certain to be hanging about. Probably he has something to say and can't say it, or he writes well about nothing. Sheppard, paralysed by the threat. His literary instincts began to stir. But Miss Stanley took no notice of these things. As the Wastrel rushed, Spurlock sidestepped, swept the ball into his hand, set himself and threw it. It is nothing at all for you to worry about. To be complete, my vengeance must be tardy.
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