Spurlock plodded through the heavy sand, leaden in the heart and mind as well as in the feet. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. She formed a habit which embarrassed Spurlock greatly, but at first he dared not complain. “I shot him. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. “What you have done.
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