The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. He strangled the infant, which slipped out of his hands and screamed. Then he threw the letter at me. With a gesture which was without any kind of emotional expression, the manager indicated the silent crumpled figure on the floor and gave the room number. From thoughts of fame to thoughts of mere bread and butter! It seemed to Spurlock that he had tumbled off the edge of Somewhere into the abyss of Nowhere. It was wrenched away from Melusine’s clutching hands.
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