"Will you plead?" demanded Wild, harshly. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. “Our business here is the right way. Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble. " It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. You really ought not to stay here and talk to us.
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