Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. ‘Yes, but I’m probably chasing moonbeams. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. Sheppard, smiling through her tears. His tie had demanded a struggle; he ought to have taken a clean one after his first failure. “You see,” she said, very gently, “I AM going. At last I tried a dramatic agent, and got on the music hall stage. Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble.
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