Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation. The kissing of the book struck her as particularly odd, and then the policemen gave their evidence in staccato jerks and stereotyped phrases. Dump popped his head into the cage. It seemed to emanate from the back of the house. ’ ‘You’re going?’ asked his friend, and the note of relief was marked. She did not wait, but grabbed up the lantern and slid into the passage, calling to them to hurry.
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