Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. You cannot arrest yourself. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip.
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