” He examined the emerald in his hands and placed it carefully on the glass table. Later, she understood his reasons; and it had now become habit. ‘Oh, my God, she’s gone!’ Wrenching his hand from his friend’s slackened grasp, he darted for the door, Roding behind him. He would talk to Spurlock, but from the bench; as a judge, not as a chagrined lover.
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