CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. The chair was torture. The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed. Creeping along quickly on his hands and knees, he found the entrance to a covered drain, into which he crept. Mr. “John,” she said, “I am afraid that I am going to make you unhappy. "You are all right?"—anxiously. They're apt to be surly to strangers, but it soon wears off. ‘I am sure you will.
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