I—I hurt myself. I hope you will always remember——” Annabel held out her hands with a little cry of protest. But somehow he could not bring any of these affairs to an orderly end. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast. Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water.
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