So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. ” She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t see much future in pursuing her down this passage. She answered weakly, “I’m fine, John. My only love is for my poor lost son.
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