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Gerald sympathised with his friend’s irritation. A familiar figure was making his way towards them. When he faced Spurlock, the granite was cracked and rived; never had Spurlock seen such dumb agony in human eyes. "You two … both of you! But for you I couldn't have done it. The two friends contrasted strikingly with each other. He really deserves a better fate, does he not? He is so beautifully persistent. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. The major hailed him with a show of relief. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. Earles scratched his chin for a moment thoughtfully. Proof that the scoundrel had risen from the dead—for he was dead to his father! He glared at the female whose appearance in England had revived those painful memories—churning unbearably since Brewis Charvill had brought him the news and put him in the worst of tempers—and the fury spilled out.
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