CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. Mr. B. ‘She is constantly thinking of you,’ I said. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. But the indecision, which had been fatal to his race, was fatal to him.
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