It must be the dawn creeping in. I had no idea!” She sat down abruptly and threw her wrists limply upon the table. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair.
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