In the pause she realized the attention of the others converged upon her, and that the tears were brimming over her eyes. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. Too skilled to advertise their presence by a show of arms and men. ‘Do not mix yourself in mine, and perhaps you will not die.
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