***** From the comatose state, Spurlock passed into that of the babbling fever; but that guarding instinct which is called subconsciousness held a stout leash on his secret. ‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Lucy knocked again. ‘What are you after this time, miss?’ asked Jack. She accepted his rejoinder with a brief nod.
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