He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. "Fire! That was what drew me to you in the beginning. CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. It isn’t illusions—for us. He had set out to win her, and she had let him start.
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