Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. She began to look for beauty and discover it in unexpected aspects and places. Several of the assailants carried links, so that the room was a blaze of light. "My limbs feel so light, now that my irons are removed," he observed with a smile, "that I am half inclined to dance. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget.
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