In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. ‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding. When he faced Spurlock, the granite was cracked and rived; never had Spurlock seen such dumb agony in human eyes. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand.
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