" Spurlock, who was absorbing this talk thirstily, laughed. “I suppose you’ll come to the point soon—if there is one. You are welcome to proclaim yourself ‘Alcide’ if you will. It was not as bad a wound as she had at first thought, and the blood was only oozing now. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. ” He drank.
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