CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. Now I shall never hear it but what this evening will come pouring back over me. ” He handed her the phone reluctantly, barely masking his mild disgust. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. He insisted once again on opening the car door for her.
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