“Miserable bounder,” he murmured. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. He said simply that he wanted her to live at home. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. "Well, well; look who's here!" cried Spurlock.
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