It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. ” Sheila snarled. Even then it sent Spurlock spinning backward, to crash against the wall. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York….
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