She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. The angels in Heaven shall not tear you from me. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. No! That was impossible. "Jump!" cried Ben, in a voice of thunder. "My janizaries are within call," returned Wild. But her request was unheeded.
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