CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. ‘One of they Frenchies, that’s what I say—if it ain’t a ghost. "So I perceive," replied Jack. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield. “I cannot say more. I want you to understand clearly that I was indebted to the man in many small ways. What do you know about her, Fred? I am interested.
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