IX. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. "Somebody ought to get hold of that young man," said Prudence, grimly, as she nodded in Spurlock's direction. He kept his keen eyes steadily fixed on Thames, as if awaiting to be addressed. She decided not to ask him outright if he wished to make love to her. At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She broke a cobblestone over his head and he was out.
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