He let go of the girl’s arm. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that. “Isn’t that rather a strange question—under the circumstances?” he asked quietly. Spurling," said Jonathan, who overheard the whisper, "you owe your situation to me. He sat alone in his brother’s old car night after night that summer, staring blankly at the red sky beyond the abandoned farmhouse where she had once shown him her secrets. The Night-Cellar XVIII.
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