"Where am I?" asked Spurlock. A silver necklace enhanced the dusky beauty of her neck. \"God, it's too curly for a brush. Manned by a couple of watermen, who rowed with great swiftness, this wherry dashed through the current in the track of the fugitive, of whom it was evidently in pursuit, and upon whom it perceptibly gained. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. “He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg.
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