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 loud noise proceeding from the couch proved that their slumbers were deep and real; and unconscious of the danger in which she stood, Mrs. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. I’m a soldier, you see. One of his chair coolies had witnessed the transportation of Spurlock by stretcher to the sampan in the canal.
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