CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. The next door neighbor's dog, chained outside, let out a single bark, but was silent as soon as she turned in that direction, instinctively afraid. I was perfectly satisfied with your appearance. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. It was an impulse. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. .
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