It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. " "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. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares.
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