"I won't trouble you further, Jack," he remarked. He began to think of speeches, very firm, explicit speeches, he would make. The Ragged Edge. Sudden indignation boiled up in him. She wished her father and aunt would not enjoy their dinner with such quiet determination. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. My, um, my curfew. Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble.
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