When were you last confessed, Sir Rowland?" he added abruptly. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. “I wouldn’t. " "Then you are taking me on?" Spurlock's eyes grew soft like those of a dog that, expecting the whip, saw only the kindly hand.
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