Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. “What do you think of that farce?” he exclaimed bitterly. ‘To the contrary, I will have you to know something.
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