Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. "I hope you don't imagine anything has gone wrong, Sir. Ah Coom. The smell that emanated from the opening was abominable. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. “Would you wait for me?” Manning was silent for a space. Leastways, not on your own. But her heart kept on sinking.
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