. . CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. For it was but logical that she would seek a divorce on the ground that she had unknowingly married a fugitive from justice. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. ‘None of them means anything to you at all? How odd. JACK SHEPPARD.
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