CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. Horrible memories of things seen beneath the microscope of the baser forms of life crawled across her mind and set her shuddering with imagined irritations. “How are you feeling?” She asked with grave concern in her voice. ” It was her last evening in that wrappered life against which she had rebelled. "It's a whale of a place. ” She whispered to him. He impetuously grasped a hold of her hand, looking for a callous. ’ ‘Don’t tell me,’ exploded his second-in-command. "Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. "I yield to fate. "No, I shan't," replied Rachel, saucily. Half an hour's labour, during which he was obliged more than once to pause to regain breath, sufficed to make a hole wide enough to allow a passage for his arm up to the elbow.
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