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CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. "Within the last few minutes, all my guilty life has passed before me. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. I met you here as Lady Ferringhall. When you send for me I shall come back. Such of his features as were visible were of coarse mould. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. I should have known at a glance if it was. "What was it?" He was insistent. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. Cheveney was looking after her, I think, then.

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