' That's your signal. Horribly skinny he was, and short too. There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. ’ Gerald grinned. I won't keep you long. In the heart of the jungle the dog had his private muck baths. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. But it is the truth.
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